


Return from Tartarus

by Melethril



Series: Reverence For Life [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Lucifer (TV)
Genre: BAMF Lucifer, Brief Season 4 Spoilers in Chapter 10, Case Fic, Dan is so done with this, Gen, Linda Martin being awesome, Lucifer the Punisher, Lux (Lucifer TV), Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Nothing graphic because there is no need to glorify something so terrible, Protective Lucifer, The BAU as a family, The BAU being awesome, The LAPD being awesome, sex crimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 16:44:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 84,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19155004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melethril/pseuds/Melethril
Summary: A series of rapes and murders has shaken the city of San Diego. The Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU) of the FBI was consulted to catch the criminals. Before they can really narrow down the suspects, it appears that the pack responsible for the crimes has moved to Los Angeles, where Detectives Daniel Espinoza and Chloe Decker with her partner, Jake Collins, are investigating two separate murders. After realizing how these cases must be connected to the San Diego cases, the BAU is invited to help them catch the monsters responsible.





	1. Heart of a Lion

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, here's my next Lucifer story, which is also a crossover with one of my favorite shows, Criminal Minds.
> 
> Here's the timeline:  
> Criminal Minds: After Season 3 Episode 16 (Elephant’s Memory) => let's just assume that happened more in the years 2015/2016 than when it actually did  
> Lucifer: AU taking place before Season 1, Delilah checked herself into rehab, Chloe is only immune to Lucifer's desire powers but does not make him vulnerable
> 
> Again: I'm an awful romance writer and I'm not going to write it now. I don't ship anyone from either fandom. 
> 
> As is tradition for Criminal Minds, the story will begin and end with a quote.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of the story is a bit of a convoluted reference to the line “Soul of a Titan” in the song “You won’t Break Me” by Jonathan Murrill, Tom Ford, Lee Richardson & James Cocozza.  
> Title of this chapter is a direct reference to the same song.

**“The laws only can determine the punishment of crimes, and the authority of making penal laws can only reside with the legislator, who represents the whole society united by the social compact.”** **Cesare Beccaria**

* * *

“Your lieutenant is one hell of a woman,” said Agent Emily Prentiss of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, BAU, to Detectives Chloe Decker, her partner Jake Collins and Daniel Espinoza with a grin.

Dan returned the dark-haired agent’s enthusiasm with a smile of his own, “Terrifying too, but yes, she’s excellent. In case we haven’t already mentioned it before, let me just repeat how glad we are to have you with us on this case,” he continued before addressing the Unit Chief of the BAU, Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, a serene, quiet, seemingly unemotional but remarkably empathetic man who had even managed to impress Lieutenant Monroe. “When does the rest of your team arrive?”

The only other member of the BAU who had already traveled to LA, Dr. Spencer Reid, an awkward man of twenty-six who also happened to be one of the smartest people Dan had ever met stood by them silently.

The BAU had joined them just a week ago after Dan had been called to the body of a woman who had been cruelly tortured and raped before she being murdered and carelessly dumped in an alley. The nature of the marks and victimology had been so similar to what happened in San Diego just a few weeks ago, they instantly contacted the BAU, which had been handling the case together with the local PD.

They immediately sent three agents to evaluate whether Dan’s case truly was connected to San Diego before they brought in the rest of the team. Only a few days later, Chloe and Jake were assigned to an abduction case of two women, of which one, Carol Trevor, managed to escape. Unfortunately, by the time the police arrived at the crime scene, her friend was already dead.

Ms. Trevor, while still at the hospital recovering from her countless injuries, had been able to provide absolutely crucial details regarding her kidnappers who had been wearing masks for the abduction and later blindfolded her for the torment. They were a pack of a least five men and they were merciless. From what Ms. Trevor told them, at least two fit the profile of anger-excitation rapists and they were the dominant partners of the pack. Each appeared to have one submissive follower who did whatever they were told and there was an unknown fifth party they still needed to further identify since he had not interacted with Ms. Trevor much. The level of sadism these men expressed and the fact they either covered their own faces, or blindfolded their victims, gave the BAU the indication that they had probably upped their game from sexual misconduct such as voyerism to rape to extensive sexual torture with the ultimate murder of the victims.

As a result of this successful interview conducted by Chloe, Agent Hotchner gave a brief press conference where they asked former victims of rape in the whole State of California, but particularly from San Diego or LA, to come forward if their rapist either wore a mask or if the victim was blindfolded throughout the ordeal, or both.

“Do you think this is going to work? Isn’t this looking for the needle in the haystack?” asked Chloe skeptically.

“In a way, yes,” replied Dr. Reid. “Unfortunately, for the past decade, the average number of crimes that included forcible rape in California ranged between eight to ten thousand annually.”

Dan wondered just how depressing it had to be to have such crime statistics in your head.

“However,” interjected Emily whom Dan had instantly identified as a competent, strong lady who was not easily intimidated by the boy’s club that was law enforcement, “thanks to Carol’s brave statement, we know what the needle looks like, and this should help our case.”

“How long does it usually take to get a response?” asked Jake. He was Chloe’s partner for the past year. He was the brainy type with a good head on his shoulders for crime scenes, but he was timid and not the best at human interaction, which was a bit of a problem in Dan’s eyes because, while Chloe was excellent at talking to victims, as this case had demonstrated yet again, and they complemented each other nicely on scene, she was a harsh interrogator, which did not always give the best results. Jake never challenged her style, however, and it had ended with more than one complaint from defending attornies.

“It’s difficult to say,” replied Agent Hotchner calmly. “It can take a few hours or days. It really depends on the victims-“

“Excuse me, Agents. Detectives?” said Holly, the officer minding the front desk today. “There’s a woman who’d like to talk to you.”

“Thanks. I think it would be best if we met in a quiet office,” replied Agent Hotchner.

“Of course, sir,” replied Holly. “She said that she would only talk to you and if you have any females on your team.”

“Certainly,” replied Agent Hotchner. “Detective Decker, Agent Prentiss, you’re with me. Everyone else, wait outside.”

A woman in her late thirties to early forties walked by them, head held high and proud. With her was a tall, thin man with light brown hair and hazel eyes. He squeezed her hand gently before they greeted Agent Hotchner and she led herself be guided to one of the interview rooms.

“Detective Daniel Espinoza,” he introduced himself to the man, who was watching his spouse or partner leave.

“John Wilson,” was the numb reply. “I’m Sophie’s husband.”

“Do you mind telling us what you know?”

A deep, desperate inhalation of air was the answer before he sighed and continued, “It happened eight years ago, almost exactly five years before we met. She hardly ever talks about what he did to her, but sometimes, she just… She’s still healing.”

“These kind of traumas take a long time,” soothed him Dan calmly.

“I know, I just wish she didn’t have to go through this again, but when she saw Agent Hotchner on TV, she left work and called me. She’s convinced the guy who did that to her is also responsible for the crimes he described. I hope you find him. I think it will give her the closure she needs,” replied Mr. Wilson and thanked Jake for bringing some coffee. About five minutes later, the interview door opened and Chloe left the room quickly. It seemed like she was in hurry.

“Come on, Jake, we need to interview a suspect,” said she. Her partner instantly rose to his feet, ready to leave.

“Suspect? What suspect?” asked Dan, confused.

“Detective!” Agent Hotchner was not the person to shout, but his voice carried and Chloe reluctantly turned around.

“You have a suspect?” asked Mr. Wilson instantly.

“No, Mr. Wilson” contradicted Agent Hotchner. “We don’t. There is simply a club that connects the current three victims as well as your wife…” Before he could continue, Mrs. Wilson followed them out with Agent Prentiss right behind her. She seemed concered. The civilian planted herself in front of Chloe menacingly.

“Lux saved my life,” said she urgently. “And I would bet my soul that Lucifer had nothing to do with this. If these victims went to Lux, and they were abducted soon after, it will break his heart to hear it. I guarantee that he would never support this, or, Heaven forbid, be capable of commiting these crimes himself.”

“I’m sorry,” interjected Agent Prentiss skillfully bringing the conversation to the matter at hand, “could you tell us more about this club, Mrs. Wilson?”

“It’s a high-end nightclub, owned by Lucifer Morningstar,” she replied. “It’s one of the most prolific ones in town. It seems like the women who were violated this past week went to that club the night they were abducted.”

Dan had not realized that Chloe’s victims had both worn the same re-entry stamp as his victim, Faith Cohen. He would have to ask Chloe why she decided to withhold that vital pice of information.

“But _I_ didn’t,” hissed Mrs. Wilson. “I didn’t even _know_ Lucifer when…” she blinked the tears away harshly. “He’s the kindest, least dominant soul on the planet. He could _never_ hurt  _anyone_ that way.”

“You’re right,” confirmed Agent Prentiss clamly. “This is really just another piece of information regarding victimology. All victims so far were confident, strong, successful women in their early to mid-thirties with successful careers, who liked to spend their Saturday nights in high-end clubs to decompress from their demanding jobs. However, I also agree with Detective Decker that we should talk to Mr. Morningstar. We might need to warn him about the danger his patrons could be in, and it is possible that he knows more than he might realize.”

For some reason, the woman just scoffed, “If you involve him, let me give you a friendly piece of advice… Should he find out the identity of the men responsible, don’t bother looking for them. He’ll personally send them to hell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crime_in_California


	2. Handsome Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The BAU and Detective Decker as well as her partner meet with the owner of Lux.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! You guys really are the best, thank you so much for your support into this crazy crossover world.
> 
> Special thanks to SilverWolf7 for her continued support and helpful discussions regarding this crossover. And for now watching Criminal Minds. I've never had a friend to discuss Criminal Minds before, and I enjoy every minute of our conversations.

SSA Emily Prentiss stepped out of the car and peered at a tall building where they would find the nightclub Lux. Her phone was on speaker as she was listening to the information the technical analyist and all-around sunshine of the BAU provided them with.

“There is virtually no information on this Lucifer Morningstar – and yes, that it his real name, I checked – before he came to LA six years ago. He opened Lux only a few months later, and it’s thriving, one of LA’s most popular clubs. All kinds of celebrities come here, one even came out of it: Delilah Curtis, famous singer and songwriter, though she’s been out of the limelight for a few months now after checking herself into rehab. On Morningstar himself, I have zilch, nada, nothing, only that he’s rich. I mean, really rich. He’s also known to give out favors to people.”

“Shady business?” asked Emily slamming the car door shut.

“Gray area perhaps, but no, nothing nefarious as far as I can tell. All above board. And-wow!”

“What?” asked Emily.

“Nothing, the guy’s just gorgeous, is all. If you’re into tall, dark and handsome…he’s it, honey. Eyes to die for, I tell you,” she babbled.

“Don’t let Morgan hear that,” grinned Emily, thinking of the platonic, playful and flirtatious relationship their computer genius shared with their tall, dark and handsome agent. Together with Jennifer “JJ” Jareau and SSA David Rossi, the expert on crimes of obsession was currently on his way to LA since all evidence suggested that the UnSubs had either temporarily moved or traveled to LA, which could be either due to their jobs, out of necessity or habit; as of now, they could not say. Such a large comfort zone would be highly problematic in terms of gaining a better understanding on where the pack would strike next.

“Oh, he doesn’t hold a candle to my dark knight, but I could definitely get lost in his eyes.” She gave a fake sigh that made Emily grin. “Also, just like my prince, Morningstar has quite the reputation with the ladies. Was voted top of the list of LA’s most eligible bachelors and is number one on the ‘ _Actual Sexiest Men in Hollywood’_ list.”

“Is she always like that?” asked Detective Decker, wavering between being appalled and mildly irritated by Garcia’s behavior.

“She’s just getting started,” deadpanned Hotch and Emily had to suppress a grin, especially when Garcia stuttered her apologies and proceeded to chide Emily for not warning her that Hotch was within earshot.

Hotch had obviously pinned Detective Decker as a potential problem. Emily did not quite agree. The detective had good cop instincts and asked excellent questions. However, she was not a team player and was obviously used to conduct investigations independently without collaboration with or interference from other agencies. Detective Espinoza was more used to coordinating with others given that he was without a partner and therefore had to call in backup more often than Detective Decker. She had a dominant personality type and her partner, Detective Collins, responded to that by following her lead without any challenge whatsoever. Their success rate was above average, so Emily saw no problem in her approach. If Detective Decker were a guy, people would think of her as a great cop John McClane style (she could just hear Morgan contest that particular statement, but law enforcement was a boy’s club, and dominant female personalities had to make their positions known far more frequently than men. Emily’s six-feet-something colleagues could not possibly understand that).

“Garcia?” asked Reid, oblivious to the challenge between the detective and Hotch. “His name… Is he a satanist? I mean, not that there is anything wrong with that. Unlike many other religions, there is no confirmed case of satanic killings in the United States-“

“Oh, I can give you better than that, my beautiful genius,” said Garcia. “He _is_ the devil.”

“Excuse me?”

“By all accounts, Mr. Morningstar calls himself the devil. Though why you would name yourself after a demon with horns, cloven hooves and a tail, I can’t say,” Garcia continued.

“Actually, Satan is a fallen angel and not a demon and there is no such description of the devil in the bible,” replied Reid enthusiastically. “He’s actually described as a master of disguise. 2 Corinthians 11:14-15 says that _‘Satan disguises himself as an angel of light,’_ so that’s not necessarily a contradiction to him looking beautiful-“

“Good morning, agents,” said a voice behind them, and they turned to face its source. The man was clearly a security guard, but unlike most club security she had observed, he definitely looked like he knew what he was doing (ex-military, probably). “Mr. Morningstar told me to let you in. Please follow me.”

If that welcoming committee surprised Hotch, he did not say anything. “Thank you, Mr…?”

“Steve Meyer, M-E-Y-E-R, not like Bill Maher, more like Seth Meyers but without the ‘s’ at the end. I’m responsible for the safety of this building in the mornings.”

“Thank you, sir,” replied Hotch. The man led them inside the empty club.

The sound of a piano and a female voice singing a beautiful redition of Lesley Gore’s _You Don’t Own Me._

 _Don't tell me what to do_  
_And don't tell me what to say_  
_Please, when I go out with you_  
_Don't put me on display_

A male voice supported her throughout the thing, but he was never dominating, singing the lyrics rather than ‘replying’ to her plea. The song was followed by an effortless transition to Nancy’s _These Boots are Made for Walking._

 _These boots are made for walking_  
_And that's just what they'll do_  
_One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you_

The same male voice from before called out to a third, silent party, “Dr. Linda, will you not join Delilah?”

They walked down the staircase that led into the inside of the club. The layout of Lux was open and a bit dark, but there were practically no blind corners. Emily had to smile when she saw a young, blond, stunningly beautiful woman striding in true Nancy Sinatra fashion up and down, singing the lyrics outstandingly well. An older, blond lady in her early to mid forties wearing glasses was joining her with a genuine smile but refusing to sing. The FBI agent’s eyes drifted over to the piano and…

“I see what you mean,” muttered Emily into the phone. The guy was absolutely gorgeous, probably in his mid-thirties, meticulously dressed in a suit and his fingers skillfully danced across the keys. His genuine laughter carried across the room like a song.

“Told you,” sounded Garcia, not realizing that the music had stopped and her voice echoed into the abrupt silence. “Stunningly beautiful, isn’t he?”

“Ah, well, thank you, disembodied voice. May I know your name? Just so you know, _your_ voice sounds like a glass of water must seem to a man in the desert,” said the club owner with a British accent.

“Agent Hotchner,” began Garcia breathlessly, “Would it be too much of a hassle if I came down to LA? I feel like you need your technical analyst on sight for this case.”

“No, Garcia,” denied her Hotch unsurprisingly. “I doubt the budget will thank us if we brought you here without real need.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Agent Hotchner” replied the club owner happily, grinning as devilishly as his name suggested. “I would _pay_ to put a face to Agent Garcia’s beautiful voice.” Not two seconds after that comment left his lips his phone gave the distinct sound of an incoming text. Momentarily distracted, the man checked the smartphone and smiled, genuinely charmed, “Oh, love, you look stunning.” His delight was heartwarming, honest and Emily grudgingly had to admit that, as disgusted as she was by the whole concept of ‘players’ or ‘ladies men,’ Mr. Morningstar reminded Emily just enough of Morgan for her to accept his way with women, because their approach was based on honesty and the wish to make the other person feel good about themselves, and less about gratifying their own needs.

“You know,” continued Mr. Morningstar, still grinning widely, “there are exactly six people who have this number, of whom three work for me, one used to work for me and the other two are in the very room I’m standing in at the moment. How did you come about it? And would you mind telling me your full name?”

“Penelope Garcia, technical analyist not agent, and I may have done a thing…”

His grin widened, “Ooh, I like where this is going. Brilliance is always an aphrodisiac, and I know nothing short of a sophisticated computer system could get this particular number since it isn’t registered. What kind of thing did you do?”

“Let’s not talk about the thing,” squeaked Garcia and Emily really wanted to put an end to her misery, but she had not seen Hotch this amused in ages, especially not since the divorce. Apart from his son, only Garcia could put that kind of expression on the man.

It mirrored Mr. Morningstar’s whose expression had morphed into something softer and less playful, “I don’t care about the thing.”

“Garcia, thank you for your call, but I think we should continue with our investigation,” Hotch reminded her gently.

“Of course, sir,” replied Garcia a bit nervously as if remembering herself, “Sorry, sir. I’m on it. Bye, handsome devil,” she quibbed half-heartedly.

The club owner tilted his head, frowning a bit, “Is everything alright, Ms. Garcia?”

“What? Yes, peachy, everything’s perfect, couldn’t be better. I’ve got to go back to work.”

“Who hurt you?” The man’s voice had lowered by almost an octave. “Who betrayed your trust?”

All fun and games ended in that moment. With a wave of fear, fury and disgust, Emily thought back to Jason Clark Battle; how he had lured and nearly murdered Garcia.

“A bad guy,” muttered their beloved tech analysist. “He picked me up at a coffee shop. I should’ve known better. I’m not the kind of girl that happens to, but I thought he liked me… It made me feel so stupid.”

Emily expected Hotch to interfere, mostly to protect Garcia, but she was in Virginia, the club owner was here in LA, and this conversation seemed like the perfect opportunity to get an idea of what kind of person he was, so their Unit Chief did not do anything.

“Oh, dear Ms. Garcia, anyone who’s met you and who couldn’t see you for the ray of light that you are, does not deserve a moment of your attention,” said Morningstar gently. “I only hear your voice, and I already know that _angels_ are not as kind as you are. Well, a few of them, perhaps, but definitely not all. You must be the heart of your team, their light in a room full of darkness. Wouldn’t you agree, Agent Prentiss?”

“You know an awful lot about us, Mr. Morningstar,” noticed Hotch.

“Well, that happens when you interrogate one of my friends, or no, wait, I think ‘we would just like to ask you a few questions,’ I believe, is what you told her,” said Mr. Morningstar casually, instantly switching from playful to dead serious. “Sophie didn’t expect that her honest statement would incriminate me. Well, you and Agent Prentiss were true to your word. It was Detective Decker who decided I was a viable suspect, and who turned the friendly chat into an interrogation.” His dark eyes zeroed in on Detective Decker, “Do you think I’m capable of raping anyone? Destroy everything they are? Take their free will and violate them so profoundly they will never be who they once were?” His tone was calm but icy. Emily could feel the temperature in the room drop. “Accusing me of murder would have been insulting enough, but this? What have I done to deserve such a low opinion of me?”

“Mr. Morningstar,” Detective Decker spoke up, her face a blank mask. “Each of the victims visited this club the night they were abducted and hurt. Mrs. Wilson also has a deep connection to this place.”

“And your first instinct was to accuse me of rape and murder?” Disbelief and true anger colored every syllable. “You must truly think me evil.” His posture was not menacing or dominating or aggressive, but every instinct in Emily told her to run as she looked into his eyes. Suprisingly, it was the blond singer who fearlessly approached the club owner and put her hand on his forearm. Mr. Morningstar deflated instantly; his eyes were less cold and instead displayed genuine misery. He gingerly grasped his friend’s hand.

“Perhaps it would be best if we all took a step back and introduced each other,” said the older blond lady calmly, her very appearance screaming medical professional. “While Lucifer has obviously done his homework, I cannot say that I can put your faces to names just yet. My name is Dr. Linda Martin. I am a psychiatrist and I have a practice in Beverly Hills. I’m more than happy to give you my information if you need it.”

Mr. Morningstar stiffened at the introduction and apologized sincerely for his rudeness.

“Of course, Dr. Linda. She’s my therapist. This is Delilah Curtis, she used to sing in this club and is currently a friend visiting.”

Ms. Curtis’ expression was one of true fondness as she smiled up at the tall man, “You wouldn’t _know_ Dr. Linda if it weren’t for me.”

“For which I am very grateful,” replied the club owner without missing a beat.

“What I’m trying to say here, is that _I’m_ the mess, and these two helped me get better,” smiled Ms. Curtis.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I’ve beaten you in several categories of being a mess,” grinned Mr. Morningstar, not at all caring that there were people listening. “Wouldn’t you say, doctor?”

“I’m not going to disclose any patient information in front of an audience,” was all Dr. Linda said to that coolly.

“That’s a yes,” he addressed the BAU happily, all tension seemingly forgotten. “Dr. Linda, Delilah, these are Supervisory Special Agents Aaron Hotchner, Emily Prentiss and…Dr. Spencer Reid, I believe. Oh my!” he muttered as he inspected Reid. “Are you even old enough to be in my club?”

“I’m twenty-six,” replied the genius, used to defend his position, so he did not seem to be indignant.

“Does the FBI rob the craddle nowadays?” asked the club owner, critically inspecting Hotch.

“Dr. Reid may be young,” replied Emily’s boss coolly, “but he is an excellent profiler and an expert in various fields.”

“I think you’re missing the part where he has an IQ of 187,” answered Mr. Morningstar, casually demonstrating again just how much he knew about them, “and I’m not saying that he does not have the _skills_ to work in your unit, Agent Hotchner. I’m saying he’s too young to deal with the kind of world you have to braven so frequently, but then…” he looked at them solemnly, his eyes strangely ancient and tired, and Emily wondered just what kind of background he had, “all of you are. Yet, you’re still… bright.” He scoffed quietly, before addressing their resident genius directly, “Dr. Reid, just let me give you a piece of advice; from a son to a son. Your father may have brought you into this, but you don’t have to follow his footsteps. Hero-worshipping your father can only bring you so far in the dark.” His words were gentle and so was his expression.

“It wasn’t my _father_ who brought me into this,” contradicted Reid, almost spitting the word.

“No,” whispered Mr. Morningstar, “not genetically speaking, I guess, but he might as well be. He was your dad in all that mattered.”

“I don’t hero-worship him,” countered Reid, his voice shaking slightly. Emily felt sympathy for her young colleague and a surge of protectiveness overcame her. She had never been able to build that same level of trust and admiration the others felt for Gideon, but right now, she wished the man were still here.

If only so she could kick his ass for abandoning Reid.

All of them, really.

On a bad day, you could not mention the word ‘Gideon’ around Morgan without his facial expression turning to stone.

“We all hero-worship our fathers, darling” contradicted the club owner, his eyes wide and vulnerable, “It’s just expected of me, and I rejected it. You can step out of his shadow and be yourself. Stop trying to be whom he moulded you into. It’ll only lead to pain and misery.”

“Could you?” challenged Reid after a moment of silence, “Step out of his shadow, I mean.”

A desperate, helpless laugh escaped Mr. Morningstar’s lips, “I’m as free as I’m ever going to be. But you? You have a family that loves you, and you made it all by yourself.”

Reid seemed to be almost in trance, captured by the man’s intense, dark gaze, “I wouldn’t have them if it weren’t for him.”

“Perhaps not, but where you’re going from here isn’t up to him. Free will. Love him if you still can, but don’t spend your life thinking about what he would do and how you need him. You don’t. You’re your own man. And if he can’t accept you for the person you’ve become, then he doesn’t deserve your love, your faith or your loyalty.”

Their resident genius, still focused on Mr. Morningstar’s low voice and penetrating gaze, visibly relaxed, oddly comforted by the man’s harsh words.

“Your easy access to information on our team is quite suprising, Mr. Morningstar,” said Hotch, suspicious and just a tiny bit impressed.

“A lot of people owe me a lot of favors, Agent Hotchner,” replied the club owner. “And you’ve upset my friend, which I don’t forgive easily,” his smile was sharp and his eyes cool, “and thus, I needed to know who I was dealing with so I could punish you properly, but I don’t hurt innocents, so there’s that. As for Detective Decker, well, tell me, what did you think you would accomplish by rushing out of the interview and running here? Did you think I would fold? If you thought me guilty of such hideous crimes, it seems to me that lying would become second nature to such a person. Tell me, what is it that you want?” There was a hypnotic quality to the way he said it and Emily had the sudden, inexplicable urge to tell him everything even though she wasn’t the one who was asked the question directly.

Detective Decker yet again proved her absolute resilience by not missing a beat and meeting his gaze unflinchingly, “I want to catch the monsters that hurt these people, and your club is somehow involved.”

Emily cringed inwardly, but Mr. Morningstar did not get angry. Instead, he exhaled sharply, “Huh, that hasn’t happened before.” He tilted his head, “Did my father send you? Anyway,” he dismissed her after a beat and then turned to Hotch, “Now that you’ve taken your time to observe me, what’s your verdict?”

“You act with absolute confidence, and the way you move suggests that there is a good reason for it. You may be the owner of this establishment, but I agree with your friend Mrs. Wilson that you don’t have an alpha male personality. In fact, I believe you find such dominant personality types quite abhorrent. You are not subservient enough to ever be a submissive part of the pack, therefore there is no way you are guilty of these crimes.”

“Thank you,” smiled Mr. Morningstar. “Dominance is such an overrated, male stereotype, wouldn’t you say? They always put their own needs above their lovers’ and what’s the fun in that?”

“Would you mind if two or three of our agents stayed here for tonight?” requested Hotch carefully, deciding not to comment on the man’s previous comment. “While I don’t believe you’re involved, I agree with Detective Decker that this club has come up too many times in the course of our investigation to be a coincidence.”

Mr. Morningstar sat down by the piano grand, his hands flying over key without touching them, “Does anyone in this room believe in the existence of souls?”

Ms. Curtis’ head snapped to her friend in alarm and she approached him quickly. He just smiled at her, indicating that there was no reason for her to worry. Dr. Martin also looked mildly alarmed, but concealed it much more skillfully than the famous singer.

“Do you?” he repeated his question into the silence.

“There is no scientific evidence for the existence of a soul,” said Reid neutrally, “but since it is almost impossible to prove a negative, there is no evidence against it either.”

The club owner seemed to accept that answer and looked to Emily, “Agent Prentiss. You’ve hardly said anything so far. Do _you_ believe in souls?”

Emily chuckled uncomfortably, “I’m by no means very religious, but…” She looked into his dark eyes and found nothing but genuine interest. She could not help answering with absolute honesty. “It’s difficult to witness what we do on a daily basis, and not hope that there is some sort of justice at the end of it all. That people who commit such crimes are punished beyond what we can do, which is lock them away for the rest of their lives.”

Slowly, the club owner nodded, his expression gentle, “And that is where I come into play.”

“The devil as a punisher of evil,” concluded Reid, looking as delighted and nerdy as Emily had ever seen him. “That’s not a very common interpretation.”

Someone who called himself Lucifer should not look that crestfallen over such a statement, “No, I’m afraid not.” He cleared his throat before continuing, “Anyway, people like the ones you are looking for belong to one of two categories: category one are the ones that follow and aid. Often, they are allowed to participate, but they know that what they’re doing is wrong. Their guilt drags them to Hell, bit by bit, and once they follow, there is no going back, no forgiveness, no respite from their guilt. Good riddance. A soul with that kind of tag stands out in a crowd, I would recognize them instantly. Now the other category, those are the true monsters. They don’t feel guilt; they enjoy the pain they inflict; it is the only way for them to feel pleasure. Guilt is not a part of them, but their deeds darken their souls… They become like dark holes in a sea of stars. The souls of the very worst of them are powerful, and they are hungry for light. They consume it and with that, take people’s hopes, their future, their lives. These souls only fear the one thing they cannot consume: a soul, burned out an eternity ago.”

“Lucifer, the fallen angel,” breathed Reid, fascinated by the man’s spiritual yet strangely accurate take on profiling.

“They would never come near me. They wouldn’t know why, but they would avoid this club like the plague.”

Garcia was right. He was not just named after the devil; he seriously acted as if he was the devil, a punisher of evil according to Reid.

“That’s a very nice theory, Mr. Morningstar,” interjected Detective Decker impatiently, “But I do hope you understand that we still need to make sure they’re not finding their victims here.”

“Of course, Detective. Your partner has been very quiet. What do you think, Detective Collins?”

“I think it would be prudent to have at least a few people observe this club for tonight,” said Detective Collins causing Emily to startle because she had barely ever heard the quiet man speak.

“Then so be it, but don’t waste too much time and effort into bringing people here. Unless you want them to have a good time without any… well, with _some_ action, but not the kind you’re hoping for,” grinned the club owner mischievously. “Agent Hotchner, I would like to join you in your search. Sophie is quite convinced that one of the men hurting these women was the one who nearly destroyed her, and even if it wasn’t, it is my duty to punish those who don’t feel guilt for their crimes.”

“Mr. Morningstar,” countered Hotch calmly and politely. “While I appreciate you offer, you are by no means qualified to become a part of this investigation. You would have to be accepted as a civilian consultant and in order to become that, you would need a skill we don’t already have and frankly, there is hardly an expertise that isn’t covered by Dr. Reid.”

“What about music?” suggested Mr. Morningstar after a beat, still smiling.

“Playing the piano is essentially like math,” chimed in Reid enthusiastically, and Emily grinned. She could not remember the last time she had had this much fun while working such a bleak case, unless the situation exclusively consisted of members of her team.

Absolutely appalled, the club owner stared at the youngest person in the room, and put his hands on the piano grand without further comment. What followed was one of the most exquisite renditions of Leonard Cohen’s _Hallelujah_ she had ever heard. Tears formed in her eyes and it was almost unbearable to hear the man’s voice on top of absolutely beautiful keystrokes that were like another voice joining this lonely song.

 _I did my best, it wasn't much_  
_I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch_  
_I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you_  
_And even though it all went wrong_  
_I'll stand before the Lord of Song_  
_With nothing on my tongue but hallelujah_

Emily had to lower her head, stubbornly blinking away her tears. Perhaps it was simply the fact that this man called himself the devil; the original, rebellious Son of God. Perhaps it was just the music itself, but her chest hurt, and she could observe how even Hotch and cool Detective Decker were touched by the music. When the last notes rang out, he turned to Reid, “Mathematics, Dr. Reid?”

The genius’ voice was rough when he replied, “That was amazing.”

“It was,” confirmed Hotch, “and I thank you for the treat, but music is not exactly an expertise I can name to convince my superiors to have you join this investigation.”

“I can read people’s dark intentions very well and I’m excellent at interrogation, but then you are profilers, so my contribution would truly be less valuable than it would be if I joyed another section of law enforcement,” mused the devil. “What about the fact that I know this city like the back of my hand, and that I have connections that will help us find them faster?”

“I believe you,” said Hotch, “but I have yet to convince Section Chief Strauss, and she’s not easily persuaded.”

The club owner’s grin widened, “Why don’t you call her and let me talk to her?”

“Oh, that is a spectacularly bad idea!” countered Emily. She knew Strauss and she would swallow Mr. Morningstar whole.

“O ye, of little faith,” muttered the club owner, but apparently, Hotch decided to go for it, because his phone was already by his ear. After taking a few seconds to talk to their Section Chief, he handed over the phone to Mr. Morningstar who turned up the charm off the scales, “This is Lucifer Morningstar. Section Chief Strauss? Lovely to hear your voice.” Saying that, he stepped away and out of earshot.

“I confess that I was wrong,” conceded Detective Decker. “I don’t think Mr. Morningstar is involved, but what if the perps, or UnSubs as you call them, use Lux as a hunting ground?”

“That is a good idea in theory,” chimed in Dr. Martin, who had obviously heard something about the case from the club owner. “But this is Lux we’re talking about. Not for nothing, it’s called the safest nightclub in LA. Lucifer’s goal when he made this place was to create a safe haven where people could live out their desires, and he really is as good at reading people as he claimed… at least in this context,” said she after a moment’s hesitation, but she did not say anything in addition.

“But this place isn’t isolated,” protested the detective. “What if the person never enters the building, but stalks them via binoculars or similar methods?”

“Excellent idea, detective,” chimed in Mr. Morningstar, who had changed direction and was walking toward the bar, Hotch’s phone still by his ear. “That would explain the victims’ connection to the club. It doesn’t explain Sophie, however, since this establishment did not even exist when she was hurt.” Just like that, he proceeded to walk to the bar and poured himself a glass of expensive liquor.

“Well,” Emily decided to put her five cents in, “this pack is about as flexible as it gets. They’ve probably changed their habits in the past eight years.”

“Also, it is unlikely for a pack of five to form in the first place. The fifth probably joined at a later date and changed the pack’s habits, to a point,” suggested Reid.

“What do you mean by ‘to a point’?” asked Detective Collins.

“The victimology hasn’t changed. The violence hasn’t changed,” answered their genius. “Other than Lux being a potential connection for current but not past victims, we have no indication that addition of another party changed their behavior in any way.”

“Futhermore,” continued Emily, “the pack likely formed after the attack on Mrs. Wilson since she only described one attacker.”

“To summarize,” concluded Detective Decker, displaying her experience as a homicde detective of several years, used to putting evidence together into a coherent picture. “As of now, there is a pack of five perp-UnSubs, two pairs and an unknown fifth party who may or may not have a direct or indirect connection to Lux. The pairs, from what we learned from our survivors, consist of a, what you called, sadistic, anger excitation rapist as a dominant and a submissive partner, of whom at least one is ‘allowed’ to have their way with the victim as well. The fifth party is unknown and it is unclear where they stand in the hierarchy, but it is unlikely that the two dominant partners would accept a leader. As of now, it seems that the dominant partners don’t share their victims, but enjoy each other’s ‘work’,” the detective looked slightly ill at the thought, and Emily could not blame her. “The MO of the dominant partner who violated our surviving victim is almost identical to what happened to Mrs. Wilson, which means the pack formed sometime in the last eight years, and it is unlikely that the fifth party joined from the very beginning. Anything else?”

“Geographic profile,” chimed in Reid. “Unlike most packs, they do not stick to one city but two big cities that are 127.4 miles apart. So far there is no clear explanation why that is the case, but the pack feels comfortable in both cities.”

“It could be that one of the dominant partners lives in San Diego and the other here,” suggested Detective Decker.

“True, but then we would need a trigger as to why they became a pack in the first place. Dominant partners rarely accept an equally dominant member in a pack. They could be related, however-” Hotch chimed in, but interrupted himself to take the phone from Mr. Morningstar, who had arrived by his side.

“How did it go?” asked Emily, wondering just how the man could look so relaxed after coming off the phone with Strauss.

“Oh, she’s lovely,” answered the club owner. “A true delight to talk to. Sharp as a whip, does not accept playfulness, confident, strong. I can’t wait to meet with her should she ever come here.”

Reid and Emily exchanged glances of disbelief. Could it be that the man had managed to charm Strauss of all people?

Hotch put the phone away and came over. His eyes were focused on the club owner.

“Not only are you now an official FBI consultant, but you somehow managed to miraculously increase my budget, which I’ve been fighting for these past six months, and you acquired the funds as well as brought forth the necessary arguments to bring our technical analyst here. How on Earth did you do that?” It was rare for their stoic leader to sound so flabbergasted.

“I really wanted to meet Ms. Garcia from face to face,” was all the grinning club owner replied, mischief written in every nonexistent line of his face.

“Can we keep you?” Hotch asked impassively, but quietly impressed and just a tiny bit amused; his lips twitched treacherously.

“There it is,” countered Mr. Morningstar with delight, pouncing on Hotch’s almost-smile like a cat on the prowl, “I knew there was humor buried somewhere within that stoic mask of an no-nonsense FBI agent. Call me Lucifer, Agent Hotchner, I look forward to working with you. I have a few things to take care of, but then I will rush to wherever you need me.”

“The LAPD precinct. There is no need to rush. The rest of our team will be there by noon, so you could be part of the introduction round if that is possible,” replied Hotch, as always taking things with stride.

“Perfect, I will be there. I haven’t punished people in a while and I look forward to doing it again.” The gleam in his eyes was playful, serious and dangerous, and Emily had no idea how one expression could convey such contrary emotions.

The goodbyes were made swiftly, and it was quite striking how his reactions to BAU personnel was much more wholesome and kind in contrast to his respectful but distant behavior around Detective Decker and her partner. She hoped that would not become a problem.

On their way out, Emily realized that her phone was still in her hand and on speaker, “Garcia, you still there?”

“No,” Emily heard a familiar voice that sounded as if she had taken off her headphones and was rushing about the room, “I’m packing my equipment as we speak.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Chloe, her partner and Dan meet the rest of the BAU. The BAU meets Lucifer Morningstar. Chloe and Dan need to hash out things.
> 
> References:  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Satan
> 
>  
> 
> PS: Does anyone know how to avoid the disappearance of a space after you paste a word in italics from Microsoft Word into the Chapter Text caption? It's very annoying and I always miss a few.


	3. Coming In From the Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A harrowing day at the LAPD precinct as the BAU, Morningstar, Chloe her partner and Dan need to conduct interviews with former victims.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the support.
> 
> Warning ahead: While I am not describing anything explicitly, this entire story is about women being raped by a couple of monsters. Please read with caution.

Chloe stepped into the room when she heard a deep voice ask, “He managed to charm Strauss? Our Strauss? Section Chief Erin Strauss? I’ll be damned.” The man who spoke was around five foot ten, dark-haired with a moustache and dark eyes. He had a distinct Italian look about him, but his accent spoke of Italian American rather than native Italian. “Can we keep him?”

“Funny,” replied Agent Prentiss, “Hotch asked the same thing. The thing is, Mr. Morningstar did not immediately say ‘no’ when he asked him. But honestly, would you replace being the rich owner of an exclusive club-slash-piano bar with becoming a member of the BAU?”

“Piano bar? He any good?” asked another man she did not know. He was tall, African American, and very handsome, reminding her of Ms. Garcia’s comment regarding her ‘dark prince’. This had to be Agent Morgan.

“Outstanding,” answered Agent Prentiss. “He’s friends with Delilah Curtis, too.”

“The singer?” asked the older agent incredulously.

“Yes,” replied she. “We saw her today. They’re close. According to Garcia, she started her career at Lux.”

“And my babygirl is coming here?” Disbelief colored every syllable of that sentence.

“Stepping into a plane as we speak,” said a blond woman Chloe did not know. Her voice was remarkably deep and soothing, and she was an absolute knockout. “What I would like to know is how he managed to convince Strauss to increase our budget by 10% after we were on the verge of suffering a budget cut.”

That was the moment Dan entered the room, and predictably, he halted when he saw the blonde.

“Hi,” said he with that typical ‘friendly cop’ smile, addressing all of the newcomers. “I’m Detective Daniel Espinoza, but please call me ‘Dan.’”

Chloe rolled her eyes at this ‘let’s all be buddies’ approach. So far, the BAU had shown that they were competent, but it seemed like a waste of personnel to have so many people working only one case. Sure, their job was to catch serial killers, but really, their joby was simply to assist the local PDs when they had to handle unusual cases with psychopaths. Or rather, they pretended to assist while in reality they took over the investigation. Agent Hotchner in particular was used to taking charge, and his stoic attitude rubbed her the wrong way.

Dan then finally decided to notice her standing nearby, and opened his mouth to introduce her as well, but the door opened and the Unit Chief of the BAU entered with Morningstar at his heels.

Now that was a man she could not stand. He was arrogant, delayed an investigation where every minute counted by singing and flirting, and insulted her for having made the connection between the club and the victims. If it were not a recipe for disaster, she would put him in the same room with their surviving victim, Carol Trevor, just so he could see the seriousness of the situation. Just like at his club, he commanded all the attention of the room as soon as the door closed.

“Agent Hotchner, are you hiring based on skill or hotness? Because,” he whistled, “first Agents Prentiss and Ms. Garcia – forgive me, Dr. Reid, for not counting you. You are far too young for my tastes, but if it’s any consolation, you are firmly in the _adorkable_ category – now these three gentlemen,” his primary focus was on the African American agent, but he definitely gave the older agent as well as Dan a once-over, “and this lady,” he smiled at the blonde. “While I am grateful for the view, I must confess to being curious.”

Agent Hotchner did not even react, instead he just started with the introduction, “Thank you all for coming. Let me introduce everyone. These are Supervisory Special Agents David Rossi,” he pointed at the older agent,” and Derek Morgan, as well as our liason Special Agent Jennifer Jareau. Everyone, these are Detectives Daniel Espinoza, Chloe Decker and, Jake Collins from the LAPD, and our temporary civilian consultant, Mr. Lucifer Morningstar.”

The club owner tilted his head, and addressed Agent Hotchner, “So, burning with Light is a requirement to join your team it seems. That makes sense, given the dark abyss of humanity you need to face so frequently.” Again with the pseudo-religious garbage, which caused Chloe to roll her eyes in exasperation. The club owner’s eyes zeroed in on Agent Morgan. “Please, tell me you’re single and not averted to someone of your own gender.” For someone with the reputation of being some sort of extra-sexy Casanova, he certainly was not afraid of sounding very gay.

Startled, the agent took a miniscule step back before he caught himself and confidently replied ruefully, “First, not on the job. Second, I’m a ladies man, I’m afraid.”

Morningstar’s eyes narrowed for a second, then he sighed, “Pity. But once we’re off the job, you must allow me to play wingman for a friend of mine. Mazikeen. You are precisely her type and she’ll give you the time of your life, I promise.”

Agent Hotchner shook his head, but there was a tiny twitch of his lips as if he was fighting to suppress his amusement.

“I saw that smile, Agent Hotchner,” sing-songed Morningstar, a devilish grin on his lips.

“You’ve all been briefed on the case,” the leader of the BAU addressed the room, ignoring Morningstar. “I would like to discuss the case before we present our profile to the rest of the LAPD. Mr. Morningstar, we’re now going to enter the office that was set up for our purposes. It will contain quite a number of disturbing photos. Please let us know if it is too much for you.”

“Certainly,” was the dismissive reply, and truly, he did not even blink when he inspected the crime scene photos, his eyes roaming about as if they were nothing but snapshots of something that was not real. He only halted when he was in front of the images taken of Ms. Trevor, “Is she the woman that survived?” That was a strange statement to make. He had been on the phone and out of earshot when they had discussed the case in his presence. The only explanation she could think of was that Agent Hotchner had briefed him elsewhere.

“Yes, this is Carol Trevor,” confirmed Agent Hotchner, and with that already shattering Chloe’s theory, “she managed to escape the UnSubs and is currently recovering in the hospital. Does she seem familiar to you?” he continued, putting up a recent photo that reflected Ms. Trevor’s less broken self. She was unbelievingly strong, but it would take her years to overcome the trauma she had gone through.

Morningstar inspected the photo and shook his head, “No. I didn’t talk to her personally. I could probably tell you more if I met her. I remember every soul setting foot into my club, but faces are only remembered when I actually meet with them, or if they catch my-.”

Alarm bells rang loudly in Chloe’s head and she exlaimed sharply, “No chance in hell!” There was no way she was going to let a man like Morningstar talk to a rape victim. Every member of the BAU looked at her quizzically. Dan also seemed confused. Jake was uncomfortable, but he supported her, and elaborated more diplomatically than she would be able to, “Mr. Morningstar has not exactly proven himself to be very tactful.”

“Unlike you, who’s all tact and no melody, aren’t you, Detective Collins?” quibbed the man in question, thus deliberately baiting her into a response. “I know how to talk to victims of violent crimes. I’ve met my fair share. You on the other hand, Detective Decker, greatly upset my friend. She was crying by the time she called me, because you found your lead and just had to follow it. I’m sure this makes you an excellent homicide detective, driven and focused. I am sure you know how to talk to suspects, and I assume you know how to talk to the families of victims, but I doubt you have a lot of experience dealing with those who returned from the depths of hell and are now expected to live on. They _die_ , Detective Decker. The Carol Trevor on this photo,” he took the recent photo and showed it to her. His eyes were dark and cool, “is not the Ms. Trevor you talked to. That person ceased to exist. Crimes as violent and repulsive as rape are so abhorrent because they are capable of harming a victim’s soul, of utterly undoing the person they once were before the crime. Why have people forgotten that ‘ _thou shalt not kill’_ refers to so much more than stopping someone’s bodily functions? You can destroy a person without ever even touching them.”

“Bullies,” said Dr. Reid quietly, his expression haunted.

Morningstar’s gaze softened, “Excatly, young doctor. Bullies are particularly effective at destroying their victim’s spirit, their imagination. Their Light. I don’t take kindly to that.”

“While this is fascinating,” said Agent Rossi, “and I mean _fascinating_ , and I would love to discuss these matters with you after hours and over drinks, my treat,” Morningstar accepted with a bright smile, “I think we should close in on our UnSubs. Have their been any other victims of rape calling the hotline?”

“Yes,” said Agent Hotchner. “Seven all in all. JJ,” he addressed Agent Jareau, “For these interviews, I would like you to join us. I will take care of your duties in the meantime. For the interviews, I want you to partner up as follows: Prentiss and Morgan, JJ and David, Detectives Decker and Collins, Reid and Mr. Morningstar. Detective Espinoza, do you have a female colleague that could join you for the interview?”

“All of them are occupied and are working their own cases at the moment,” responded Dan. “If it’s just about a female presence, however, I could take Ella Lopez with me. She’s our forensic scientist and I think she could be very helpful during such an interview.” Chloe pursed her lips. She liked Ella; she was a lovely girl, very intelligent, upbeat and outgoing, but she did not like Dan spending so much time with her. Often, these two would giggle about some inane joke, but instead of telling her what they were laughing about, they immediately stopped and pretended as if nothing happened. It was incredibly frustrating. So far, she put on a brave face, but she would soon tell Dan not to play these games with her. It was bad enough he had so little time for her and Trixie, but she would not stand for him flirting with other women while she was waiting at home.

“Any questions that you want us to ask?” continued her husband; again with the people pleasing attitiude. Contrary to what Morningstar just said, they knew how to conduct interviews with victims of violent crimes. Unlike the arrogant club owner, they were trained for this.

“Any details they can give us on the attacker would be helpful, but take your time. It was not an easy decision for them to come here,” answered Agent Morgan. His deep, calm voice was soothing. She could imagine him being good at this.

“Do you have any more questions?” asked Agent Hotchner.

“Yes,” said Chloe. “Why pairing up Dr. Reid and Mr. Morningstar? Wouldn’t it be wiser to replace Mr. Morningstar with a female officer?”

“Mr. Morningstar has personal experience in dealing with victims of rape, Detective Decker. Mrs. Wilson as good as vouched for him, and Dr. Reid-“ he hesitated.

“In our experience, women view me as utterly non-threatening,” continued the young man casually, which made the club owner smile.

“I told you: _adorkable_ ,” grinned the older man.

“If that is all, we should start with the interviews,” commented Agent Hotchner neutrally and then proceeded to assign rooms and interviewees to each pair. The first to reach the door were Dr. Reid and Morningstar, the latter of whom gallantly opened the door for everyone else. As they passed them, Chloe could overhear a conversation started by the younger man regarding Morningstar’s favorite books.

“Oh, young doctor, there are so many, I cannot possibly pick and choose. What is yours? Which book makes your soul soar every time you see it in a bookshop somewhere?”

“I love the Narrative of John Smith,” replied the enthusiastic young man.

“Ah. Sir Arthur, fascinating chap, good choice.”

“You’ve read it? How many times?”

“I only ever read them once, Dr. Reid. It makes no sense to go through a book twice now, does it?”

“But you need to reread the stories, or you might miss things!” protested Dr. Reid. “What about books you read years ago?”

“I’ve read the bigger part of my collection many years ago, but never reread them. I don’t really forget. Tell you what: after this is over, or once we have a moment, you come to my home, and you can quiz me on every book in my library. If I cannot answer a question, I’ll reread the book for you.”

Such an offer should not cause the whole doctor’s face to light up.

“Favorite branch of natural sciences?”

“Oh, that’s an easy one. Everything related light and the stars.”

“I guess that makes sense. Lucifer was the Lightbringer after all. So, where’s Sirius at right now?” smiled the young doctor, but before he even finished the question, Morningstar pointed over his shoulder at a specific spot on the ceiling. Dr. Reid followed the direction, picked up his phone and, if Chloe saw it correctly, was opening the compass app on his phone.

“How on Earth are you able to-?” the startled doctor asked, but he did not finish his question, and simply stared at Morningstar, flabbergasted.

“Do you know _Guugu Yimithirr?”_ asked the club owner.

“It’s an Australian Aboriginal language of Far North Queensland, mostly spoken in the Hopevale community, and the source of the word ‘kangaroo,’” replied Dr. Reid promptly, sounding like he was reading from the Wikipedia page on the subject.

“Correct. The language also conceives space absolutely, which means that, if you speak it fluently, you wouldn’t say that your notes are in your left hand. Instead, you would say that it’s in the hand on the northern side, or in the hand on the southern side if you now did a 180-degree turn. A language built on these concepts vastly improves your sense of orientation since you always need to know where the cardinal points are.”

“And you speak that language?”

“Yes,” replied Morningstar with a furtive smile.

“How many do you speak?”

“All of them,” grinned the club owner and Chloe could not help but roll her eyes.

“That’s impossible,” replied Dr. Reid firmly. “There are roughly 6500 languages still spoken today. There’s no way to learn all of them.”

“True, but know the roots; know the language. I was there when human speech evolved, young one. In fact, I was there when speech evolved, period. You can quiz me if you like.”

Emily Prentiss stepped forward, smiled and said something in what Chloe assumed was Russian, to which Morningstar gave a reply, his grin wide. She switched to what Chloe could identify as French, and again the club owner replied with what she thought was perfect inflection. The whole game was repeated with an Arabic sounding language, Spanish, what might be Italian and a language Chloe could not identify. It made her realize that the lady spoke seven languages fluently, and that Morningstar had no problem with any of them.

“Impressive,” muttered Agent Prentiss.

“Likewise, Agent Prentiss,” smiled the club owner with a respectful nod.

“This is so cool!” exclaimed Dr. Reid. “What language is your favorite?”

“Again with a question for which there is no clear answer,” replied the club owner good-naturedly as he indictated for the younger man to lead the way. “There are so many of them and each hold their own beauty and idiosyncrasies. I prefer soft melodies over staccato, but that is as far as my preferences go…”

And just like that, they were out of earshot. The slightly shorter but still tall, young man enthusiastically listened as as the suave club owner explained something. It looked eerily like a younger boy listening to some cool story his teenage brother was telling.

“Hotch,” asked Agent Morgan, his eyebrows raised, looking mildly terrified, “are you sure it’s a good idea to leave these two alone? I haven’t seen Reid this thrilled since he muttered something about the first direct observation of gravitational waves a couple of weeks ago… And the fact I remember the term gravitational waves tells you how excited he was.”

“True, but then I think he deserves a break, wouldn’t you say? If talking about languages, astronomy and books helps Reid decompress, far be it from me to forbid it. Mr. Morningstar seems fond of him.”

“Fond?” commented Agent Rossi incredulously. “I think he’s about two steps away from adopting him. How would you judge his language skills?” he addressed the dark-haired, female FBI agent.

Agent Prentiss scoffed, “He’s better than me that’s for sure. He correctly said my Russian needs work, that my Spanish sounds a tiny bit French, and that my Greek’s fine for a non-native. All correct. He sounds like a native in all six, using specific accents for each, but I bet he’s flexible accent-wise. I mean, just listen to his English: he has no regional British accent that I’m familiar with, and I bet that English isn’t his native tongue.”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” muttered Agent Rossi.

“As much of a puzzle as he is,” interjected Agent Hotchner. “We all have a job to do. We can profile Mr. Morningstar later.”

Agent Jareau smiled at that, “Yes. Because you would know how _not_ to casually profile someone from our team.”

They all started to scatter, but Chloe stayed with the blonde woman for a moment, “He’s just a temporary consultant, isn’t he? Why call him one of your team?”

The hint of a smile made her look even more beautiful. It was no wonder that Dan was unable to look away from Agent Jareau.

“Anyone who can keep up with Dr. Reid is a potential hire,” she replied. “Someone who can charm Section Chief Strauss, make Hotch smile and render Spence to the enthusiastic geek he is at his core? If Hotch doesn’t consider hiring him, I will.”

“You barely know him. He claims to be the _devil_ ,” protested Chloe.

“Yes, but not the devil we learn from in TV or Sunday school, but the one who punishes evil. He who was tasked by God to hold evil accountable for their deeds,” she countered softly.

“You don’t honestly believe any of that, do you?” the homicide detective protested in pure disbelief.

“ _He_ does, quite adamantly so from what I’ve been told. It’s a comforting thought, I think, to know that there is justice at the end of it all, even if we fail in our task, wouldn’t you say?” Her blue eyes met Chloe’s unflinchingly.

“I don’t believe that. We’re the police. We uphold the law and we are the ones making sure that people are held accountable for breaking it.”

“I agree, but laws change. Not all laws are rational or just. You wouldn’t have to go that far back in history, and you would have been asked to uphold racial segregation in this country. It was the law after all. That didn’t make it right.”

Chloe conceded the point, but added, “Still, I personally believe we’re the only justice there is and that the idea of Heaven and Hell is an absurd concept, though not quite as ludicrous as the idea of Morningstar being the actual devil.”

“Perhaps,” interjected Agent Rossi, who had hung around because he was teamed up with the blond agent. “I’ve been in the game for too long to believe that what we can see, hear and touch are the only things in existence.”

“You actually _believe_ he’s the devil?” she asked incredulously.

“As Agent Jareau said, Detective Decker, he certainly does. So far, I would bet my soul – pardon the pun – that he has said the truth and nothing but the truth so help him God.”

With that, they stepped into their respective rooms to conduct the interview.

It was hard to listen to. The victim, Sara Zimmermann, was very honest about her harrowing experience, and by the end of it all, Chloe wanted to capture the bastard more than ever. Her tomentor was definitely one of the dominant UnSubs; he used toys to worsen the pain, and was absolutely merciless. Just like Mrs. Wilson, there was no submissive party that Ms. Zimmermann could see.

An hour later, Chloe was back in the hall, and noticed how most of the other pairs had gathered as well. Dan was talking to Agents Morgan and Prentiss who had joined their conversation. Ella already retreated back into her lab to process samples. She had looked quite nauseous earlier.

“Where are Dr. Reid and-?“

Before she could finish the question, another door opened and a woman stepped outside followed by Dr. Reid and, yet, again, Mr. Morningstar at the rearend. To Chloe’s surprise, the woman was not crying or seemed subdued. She looked… _relieved_ and almost at peace. She put her hand on Morningstar’s arm; the man in turn made no move to touch her hand, but he lowered his head so that his ear was right by her lips when she made a move to whisper in his ear. He shook his head to whatever she said.

“Dad’s golden rule, I’m afraid, love, and one I actually abide for once, but I give you my word that he’ll suffer for what he’s done to you,” he replied with the certainty of a man who believed he was never wrong. The woman squeezed his arm then turned to Dr. Reid and put a hand on his cheek, “You take care of yourself, doctor.” She addressed Morningstar, “You make sure he doesn’t get hurt by these vipers. It’s bad enough we lost our innocence. There’s no need for him to lose his.”

Morningstar tilted his head, “You may have lost part of your innocence, Ms. Carlson, but you haven’t lost your Light. Still radiant,” his smile was honest and gentle.

“Likewise, Mr. Morningstar,” replied the woman, which earned her a scoff. “You haven’t given your word.”

“My word is my bond. I will make sure the crimes against you will be punished, but I cannot make the broad promise of protecting Dr. Reid’s innocence when we will go our separate ways as soon as this case is over,” was the straight reply.

“I see. For this case then? Until you catch the bastards?” she practically begged.

“Of course, Ms. Carlson. You have my word that I will protect him for the duration of this case.”

“Good,” said the woman briskly. After a moment’s pause, she said her goodbyes to the two men, turned around and left abruptly.

Reviewing their interviews for two hours after Ms. Carlson’s departure, it turned out that all seven cases could be related to their pack of UnSubs.

“None of these crimes point to the submissive partners being the primary or only aggressor, but we have two dominant UnSubs, of which one has a thing for toys, though there is no indication of him being impotent,” summarized Agent Hotchner. “His first victim, as far as we know, was Ms. Carlson about ten years ago. She was a sex worker at the time, which makes her a high-risk victim. He obviously evolved from that, now seeking out low-risk victims. It is possible that this switch came with the acquisition of a partner given that Clara Simmons, who was struggling with drug addiction at the time according to Prentiss and Morgan, told us of only one attacker, while Ms. Carlton is low-risk and was abducted and harmed by two people, although the dominant partner clearly had more time with her. The partnership is at least two years old.”

“Low- and high-risk, Agent Hotchner?” asked Morningstar lifting his hand like a kid in class.

“These are terms used for victimology that indicate how likely it is for these people to be separated from a group or safe environment. For example, a sex worker is very likely to step into a stranger’s car, while a low-risk victim is unlikely to be in a dangerous situation like that,” explained the FBI agent.

“I see, but that doesn’t change Ms. Carlson’s character: she’s strong, witty, street-wise and confident. I would call that high-risk for the attacker not high-risk behavior from her side,” protested the would-be devil in defense of the woman he had just interviewed.

“True,” conceded Agent Rossi, “but here you’re talking about the type of victim that this UnSub goes for, not so much her socioeconomic background. It is very likely that he has deep-seated issues with female authority, possibly caused by childhood trauma.”

Morningstar scoffed, “Having mommy issues doesn’t excuse you from destroying these ladies’ lives.”

“It doesn’t,” confirmed Agent Prentiss, “But it would explain his need to break strong women.”

“Our information on the submissive party of this partnership is still hazy,” continued Agent Morgan, “He’s male, not quite as strong, but quite vicious when he gets the chance. He likes cutting his victims using a knife or any kind of sharp tool. He’s completely obedient to the dominant partner who lets him participate, but responds with excessive violence if touched in the process.”

“So the rapist doesn’t approve of non-consensual touches when they involve him?” asked Dan incredulously. “Figures.”

“Yeah,” replied Agent Morgan, just as disgusted. “But more importantly, there is the possibility that the submissive partner is in love or at least sexually attracted to the dominant UnSub, given that sexual acts only occur in participation with the other UnSub.”

“What about the other two?”

“We have no indication for a submissive partner here,” continued Agent Rossi. “The two victims we talked to and the two that Detective Espinoza and Ms. Lopez interviewed, have told us about an exceedingly brutal, anger excitation rapist that works alone. His last known victim while working solo was two years ago. We will need Garcia to see if there are more. As far as we can tell, he’s always been after low-risk victims, which leads us to believe that he worked up from sexual misdemeanor to rape and murder.”

“What about Sophie?” asked Morningstar, his face a blank mask.

“She’s probably one of his victims,” confirmed Agent Jareau, “Do you know whether he ever called her _precious_? It seems to be his calling card.”

“I do not share my friends’ and lovers’ stories, Agent Jareau, unless they tell me otherwise,” was the resolute answer. “Especially when it comes to the worst moment in their lives.”

“Would you mind asking her, Mr. Morningstar?” asked Agent Hotchner. “Her statement could be important.”

“Will it bring us closer to the scumbag who hurt her?”

“Ultimately,” said Agent Rossi, “yes.”

Slowly, unhappily, the club owner nodded, retrieved his phone from his pocket and typed in a number.

“You know you can save numbers on the phone, right?” asked Agent Morgan.

“Makes no difference to me,” replied the would-be devil and put the phone to his ear.

“Hello, Mrs. Wilson,” drawled the man, despite the circumstances happy to hear her voice, it seemed. He paused before replying, “I’m at the precinct, actually... No, darling, don’t worry, I’m helping them… Civilian consultant of the FBI,” a short laugh, “I didn’t know that was a thing either. You neglected to tell me just how hot that team is, though… No, still judgmental and disapproving, but hot nevertheless. You should see the additions, though… Oh, one of the newcomers would definitely make you question your resolution to being straight. She’s radiantly beautiful.” Chloe gritted her teeth. She hated how callous and superficial he was, rendering everything to looks not skill. “Oh yes,” grinned the club owner, “all of them, really. You haven’t met their resident genius, I think. He’s something else… What? No! That would be like robbing the craddle, really. My favorite so far I’ve yet to meet face to face. Sounds positively _divine_ , though. A warm ray of light, and judging by the photo, she’s hot and playful, though she’s been burned recently,” there was a longer pause before he continued. “Well, you and John are always invited, love, you know that, but no, that’s not why I called… Yes, exactly. I’m not anything. You’re-okay, I will. What is it that _you_ want?” Whatever the reply was, his expression crumbled, “I can’t do that, Sophie, forgive me. That’s not within my range of abilities. Perhaps-” he halted, obviously searching for words. Mrs. Wilson appeared to say something in addition, which caused Morningstar to shake his head, “That’s irrevelant. This is about what you need… Of course, I would love to see you-“ he smiled gently, “I’ll see you two tomorrow… Whatever you desire, love,” he laughed. “Yes, that’s my personal phone number, why?” He frowned, “Why would I have a problem with you having my number? I’m the devil, not a technophobe, I know how to suppress my caller-ID if I wish. I simply didn’t think it was necessary while calling you… Really, why do the humans in my life believe I’m incapable of functioning in the modern world? This is the easiest century I’ve ever stayed in… Alright, I see you tomorrow.”

He hung up the phone, but scrutinized it as if it held all the answers he sought.

“Yes, he called her _precious_. She enjoys nicknames, but that one is a no-go for her. She’s already told you this,” hissed the club owner.

“We know it happened eight years ago-“ began Agent Prentiss, but was interrupted.

“Raped. She was _raped_ , Agent Prentiss, spell it out! He grabbed her when she was on her way home, threatened her with a knife, violated her so horribly that she suffered from fractures in her pelvis. When she struggled, he rammed the knife into her lower abdomen, and the injuries she sustained were so severe she’s unable to have children. That happened eight years ago; she got married two years ago, but is still healing. What else do you want to know?”

Silence followed the man’s harsh words. His voice was low and cold.

“How did you meet her?” asked Agent Rossi calmly.

“She’s a very sexual being. She enjoys having sex, she enjoys talking about it, but after that experience, she could barely stand to be around men, not to mention sleep with them. A friend of hers is an old lover of mine. We spent the night shortly after I came to LA, and she recommended me to Sophie. They visited Lux and-“ a pause, “you must understand that I only have sex with people who know what they want, or who want to try something they desire, but Sophie no longer wanted or knew what she would be able to bear. But it was her desire to heal, which is a bit of problem for me given that healing isn’t my domain, but desire is a part of me, so we slowly worked toward her goal. She became a regular visitor of my club and my home… and a friend.” He looked awed by the concept, “I wouldn’t have realized it if Delilah hadn’t told me. I haven’t really had friends before coming to LA. It’s a new concept… or, I thought so, but Dr. Linda has made me realize just how many of them I’ve had over the years, but I was never able to stick around due to my duties. Anyway, she had trouble connecting to men long after she rediscovered her love for sex, so we decided to invite in another man. We-”

“Wait, what?” interrupted Agent Prentiss incredulously. “She agreed to a second man in the room with her?”

“Agent Prentiss, I am utterly non-threatening in the bedroom unless it is your wish. I am what you desire. Sophie wanted me there as a safety precaution. Anyway, three years ago, we had John with us. Two years ago, they married. Most hilarious ceremony ever,” chuckled the would-be devil. “I was her best man, and the priest kept losing his composure next to me. His hands were shaking, he dropped the bible around six times and quoted every devil-related bible passage he could remember including _1 John 3:8, Romans 16:20_ and _1 Peter 5:8-9_. _James 4:7_ was particularly funny since I did not flee when he tried to douse me in holy water. Sophie lost her patience at _John 8:44_ , and asked me to finish the ceremony instead of the priest. First time a Celestial blessed a human wedding, I think. Great party! But that doesn’t really help the case, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t,” replied Agent Morgan grinning broadly. “Tells us a hell of a lot about you, though. What it does tell us, however, is that, for this UnSub, just like the other dominant one, killing the victim is not the goal. They want to break their victims beforehand, and I don’t think they started killing as ultimate violation and dominion over the victim. They kill them off as a safety precaution, to make sure nobody is alive to identify them.”

“I agree,” confirmed Agent Prentiss. “They tend to violate their victims profoundly, both in the past and present – there hasn’t been much of an escalation in that aspect – but now that they’re a pack, they’ve started killing, but I don’t think it’s because killing is the aim. It’s the means to an end.”

“And how does this help us?” asked Dan.

“It helps the profile,” continued Agent Hotchner. “Both are sadists that get off on inflicting pain on their victims, but one of them uses toys and started out with high-risk victims, while they other didn’t have to build up that kind of confidence and immediately started out with low-risk vcitims. However, since they’re both on equal footing as far as we can tell, it is unlikely that they are closely related, like brothers, considering that power dynamics form early. It _is_ possible that they’re still related. Like cousins.”

“What do you mean by ‘power dynamics form early among brothers’?” asked Morningstar.

“Usually, the older brothers are dominant over the younger siblings, and that dynamic rarely changes over the years. Do you have siblings, Mr. Morningstar?”

“A whole litter of them, I’m afraid,” replied the club owner quite unhappily.

“Do you still feel intimidated by your older siblings even if things are no longer the same as they once were when you were children? Do you still want to please them?”

Morningstar made a sound between a scoff and something painful, “I see what you mean, but no, I have no wish to _please_ my older brothers. And I would hope that most older brothers do not put a sword to your throat or carry you down to Hell,” he added crossly.

“Sheesh, man, that sounds bleak,” commented Agent Morgan, “makes me glad I only have sisters.”

That made Morningstar grin sadly, “Yes, sisters are wonderful. I only have one older sister and she still cares… at least as far as I know. We haven’t talked in a while. My other sisters are kind of loyal to Dad. Can’t blame them, really. Loyalty to Dad is kind of a requirement unless you want to be kicked out of the house. I was the cautionary tale so to speak.”

“I see,” said Agent Rossi.

“You should call your older sister,” suggested Agent Morgan softly. “My sister Sarah always wants to hear from me, and berates me when I don’t do it regularly enough.”

Morningstar’s lips twitched, “I will. What next?”

“We have a partial profile to deliver.”

That sentence put a very strange dynamic into the BAU agents, as they started taking out their boards and papers, in a routine that looked quiet, controlled and comfortable.

Once they were set up, they talked to Lieutenant Monroe who called all the detectives and officers involved in the case.

“We’re looking for five white males, two of whom are in their thirties to late forties, while the other three could range between their mid-twenties to late forties. We call this a pack, though their dynamics are slightly unsual with not one but two dominant partners who work together but violate their victims independently from each other. They admire each other’s work and could be in a direct competition. It is possible that they are related but not brothers. Cousins that grew up together but not in the same household are a distinct possibility. They’re both anger excitation rapists, and their main goal is to break the woman they’re violating. All women have been in their late twenties to mid-thirties, are outgoing, confident both in private and in their professional lives and, while cautious as a general rule are not avert to sexual adventures. It is possible that these two men suffered from physical and emotional abuse of a female authority figure when they were children such as a mother, aunt or a teacher. Please consider that, even though they’ve resorted to killing now, they use that as a safety measure. Their ultimate goal is to break their victims. We have less information on the submissive partners, who both had to have joined their dominant counterparts around two years ago, one of whom might be sexually attracted to the UnSub rather than the victims. They both have sadistic tendencies but are willing to suppress these urges in favor of serving their respective dominant partner. An almost unknown entity is the fifth UnSub about whom we’ve only heard through our one surviving victim. We have strong evidence that the nightclub Lux is being staked out but not frequented by these UnSubs. All current victims have visited and were probably snatched after leaving said club. Security in the club makes it unlikely for these men to ever gain access to it, which means that scanning the outskirts of Lux is more important than police presence inside of it.” A few shoulders slumped dejectedly.

“We know the pack operates both in San Diego and LA, which might be work-related, or not. So far, it is possible that the two dominant UnSubs have a perfectly normal life outside of these crimes and do all of that in secret. Meanwhile, the two submissive partners live for their respective partners and it is unlikely they can hold a steady job. These crimes and their partner is the only thing that is of any meaning to these UnSubs. They are both sadistic and show signs of aggression, so look into cases from the past where women – and men – reported aggressive flirting with physical advances that ended with the UnSubs fleeing the scene. This is a preliminary profile and we still need to figure the exact role of UnSub #5 who might be the key to solving this case. Thank you.”

With that everyone was dismissed, but, naturally, Morningstar decided to chime in, “After this case is over, the LAPD and the FBI are invited to a party at Lux, ladies and gentlemen, on my expenses, so let us find these sinners quickly and efficiently.”

“You don’t have to do that,” commented Agent Rossi after only the core team remained.

“Just like you don’t have to take me out for dinner and yet, you’ve made the offer and I will take it,” replied Morningstar absentmindly, his eyes trained on a blond, cute thing of a woman with pink strands of hair and rather eccentric, colorful clothing. She was smiling, but her steps were kind of awkward.

“Babygirl!” exclaimed Agent Morgan, his smile wide and genuinely happy. Some of the tension in his shoulder seemed to disappear as he danced forward to take the heavy-looking laptop bag from her shoulder and put his arm around her hip, kissing the top of her head as she leaned into him.

“Oh, love,” grinned the club owner, “you need to go to a better photographer. He didn’t do your beauty justice.”

As if in trance, she stepped a few steps closer, so that she stood right in front of him, and the tall man dwarfed her by around nine inches. She put a hand on his chest and shuddered, “You are made of marble, aren’t you?”

He just smiled, his expression gentle and fond, “I’m up to whatever you desire, Ms. Garcia.” Ah, this had to be the technical analysist, Chloe finally realized.

“I’m not that easy, Mr. Morningstar,” she countered, grinning playfully, “you’ll have to try harder than that.”

That made him laugh out loud, “Oh love, courting you is something I will gladly do, but-“ he lowered his head and whispered something into her ear causing her to put her hand on her heart, obviously feeling touched by whatever he said, before she covered it up with flamboyant confidence.

“You better, mister. Agent Hotchner, sir,” she squeaked, cleared her throat and immediately switched to a more professional tone, “I’m sorry for kind of not asking for permission-“

“Garcia,” interrupted the agent gently and the fondness in his tone and eyes could not be missed, “we’re glad to have you here.”

“I went ahead and looked for any police reports that could be attributed to your latest description and, sir, if San Diego was depressing, LA is awful. I think they spend most of their time here. I found one case from two years ago that… You better read it yourself, sir, I sent it to JJ a few minutes ago.”

After they were all briefed half an hour later, they had another victim for the list: Irene Reynolds. Her story was truly awful. It seemed as if she was the only victim that was attacked and violated by both dominant UnSubs with no sign of a submissive partner. They were not as careful with forensic counter-measures and investigators could recover DNA from both men, but could not make any arrests because they were not registered anywhere. Ms. Garcia also gave them a whole list of victims that needed to be interviewed and several hours in stuffy rooms later, everybody looked like they needed a vacation. Morningstar had taken it well according to Dr. Reid, and apparently, the women were incredibly comfortable telling him things. At one point however, Dr. Reid had to report an incident where Morningstar broke the interview table in two after a particularly harrowing interview. The club owner immediately confessed to Lieutenant Monroe and paid for the damage. It was also the last interview he could participate in because he had to talk to his staff and open his club. Chloe was very grateful not to be roped into having to guard that shady club. Instead, Agents Prentiss and Morgan were selected by their Unit Chief to go with Morningstar, who took them with him all too happily.

“From what you’ve told us so far, he’s good with the victims,” concluded Agent Hotchner after all was said and done.

“Good?” repeated Dr. Reid. “He’s excellent, makes everyone feel safe and comfortable, seems to know exactly what the other person needs and wants, and the truth just kind of spills out of them. I wouldn’t mind working with him for more than just this case. He’s… Hotch, he’s brilliant. Smarter than me, I think. Yet he let me take the lead because I conducted more of these interviews than he has. He trusted my judgment. It’s frightening.”

“Now you know what it feels like working with you, kid,” retorted Agent Rossi, padding his shoulder gently.

“You don’t understand. He’s-I’ve never met someone like him. I’ve quizzed him on so many things, and he knew about all of it. Psychology and profiling is kind of a black box for him, because he says that, while he’s witnessed much and knows the type of soul we’re looking for, he’s still learning about ‘what makes you humans so enthrallingly complicated.’ I think he wants to learn from us.”

“You make it sound like you believe he’s the devil,” commented Dan, more than a little disconcerted.

“I don’t know what makes him believe that,” mused Dr. Reid. “But he must have grown up very sheltered, surrounded only by his family that was very religious, possibly cult-like, and when he clashed with his father, he was _persona non grata_ in that household. Yet, despite being kicked out of the house, he followed his father’s orders doing a job he utterly detested – he calls it _hell_ after all – possibly military given his lack of horror regarding everything he has seen today, probably involving aggressive interrogation techniques given that he claims to be a torturer. Only six years ago, he finally broke free from his family and settled down here in LA. Yet, despite being on his own since his father kicked him out, the siblings still want to push him back into his old job, because they’ve been manipulated into believing that it is his duty and his calling. _He_ believes that punishment is his calling. A genius-level personality that abhors violence and rejects aggression was forced into a hierarchy-based system and a leadership role that involved punishment and torture… I think identifying yourself with the devil makes sense in this case. I like him, Hotch. He’s _fascinating._ ”

“I’m sure you’re more than welcome to join them,” said Agent Rossi. “In fact, I think we could all use a timeout. Hotch warned the public, Mr. Morningstar will warn his patrons tonight just in case they didn’t watch the news, and there is increased police presence near Lux. There’s really nothing we can do. Chances are that they looking for new victims as we speak given that Ms. Trevor destroyed their routine, but as of now, there’s little we can do.”

“Alright,” conceded Agent Hotchner. “I agree, but no drinking and don’t stay for too long. Who knows what happens tonight.”

“You coming too, Hotch?”

“Yes. JJ, Garcia, feel free to join if you wish. Detectives, what about you?”

“We need to pick our daughter up from school,” said Chloe tightly. Trixie would be off school soon, and she and Dan had to talk.

“Of course,” said Agent Hotchner, and did not even ask who ‘we’ was, as if he already knew, but then, with a resource like Penelope Garcia, he might. “What about you, Detective Collins?”

Jake quickly shook his head, and said that he was expected at home. That was what she liked about Jake. He was dependable; he had two kids and a great wife, Sibylle, whom he adored beyond measure.

“Alright. Good job today everyone, let’s hope we get a better lead tomorrow.”

And just like that, people started to disperse.

“One of us should probably go with them, Chloe,” said Dan in a low tone, “they’re obviously using this to decompress and possibly to get to know Morningstar. One of us should probably go with them, just to make sure we work as team.”

“Well,” Chloe hissed angrily. This was the last straw. “If you’d rather spend time with the FBI and Morningstar, then feel free. I’ll make sure to let Trixie know that her Dad would rather spend time in a sex club… or a club known to organize sex parties; there is no difference as far as I can see… _I_ ’ll pick her up from school, make sure she does her homework and tell her a bedtime story. You know, boring parenting stuff. Occasionally, I would just like to do it with my husband, not by myself.”

“Chloe, don’t be like that-“ begged Dan, but Chloe’s patience was gone.

“Have fun flirting with Agent Jareau. I know she’s your type.”

“What?” Dan asked incredulously and grimaced, “No, Chloe, please. This has nothing to do-“ She was not the bad guy here and she could not stand it when he tried to make her feel bad or as if she was overreacting.

“I don’t care what you do with your life, Dan, but when you come home, don’t even think about sleeping anywhere but on the couch,” she hissed before grabbing her personal items and leaving brusquely. Dan was still standing where she left him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References: https://pure.mpg.de/rest/items/item_66622/component/file_66623/content  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guugu_Yimithirr_language  
> https://www.infoplease.com/askeds/how-many-spoken-languages  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gravitational_wave  
> https://www.biblestudytools.com/topical-verses/bible-verses-about-satan/
> 
>  
> 
> Next up:  
> Lux, Lucifer and the BAU.


	4. In the Devil's Grasp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The BAU in the devil's lair.  
> That's pretty much it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your support. Your comments give me life!

Lucifer handed over his and the FBI agents’ keys to Kyle who caught them with a grin and a nod. He led Agents Prentiss and Morgan into the club and let the vibe of his home wash over him like a breeze.

The devil was custodian to humanity’s darkest exploits, but, despite what he had told Detective Decker, he had not actually talked to that many souls that had fallen prey to that particular brand of filth (if one considered the sheer number of souls he had talked to and encountered). It infuriated him.

Lucifer was not the forgiving type; it was his job to bestow judgment upon those who entered his domain. He was not kind, he was not lenient, but seeing how their actions dimmed the light of other souls? It made him want to find the monsters that committed the crimes, drag them with him to the very depths of Hell and personally hand them over to his demons. Mazikeen may be happy here on Earth and she was Hell’s most skillful torturer, but Dromos was outstandingly good at punishment.

Or Lucifer could always give these sinners to the mother of demons.

Or not.

Lilith tended to appreciate these monsters in human form and wished to reward them for their actions.

He could not let that happen.

He would not give them to the pups. While dear Kerb, Barghest and Mamau were perfect guardians of Hell’s gates, they were not actually good at punishing people; they may be hellhounds, but hounds they were, and dogs were not cruel. Maera was still out exploring the universe and she was a darling. Castor and Pollux were not even three thousand years old; no way he would let them at these monsters. Not to mention Garmr who was still growing.

There was always Ammit, of course; that loyal soul would gladly do his bidding, but that was not a sentence he bestowed lightly.

The ultimate punishment.

Like Azrael’s blade, just more vicious.

Not that Ammit was cruel, but her ability was.

Ammit had devoured more than one soul since he had grudgingly taken the mantle as King of Hell, but not nearly as many as Mazikeen or his other demons would like. They did not dare say it to his face, but they thought him to be lenient in that aspect.

They did not understand.

Could not.

It was all about the Light. It always was. Without it, there would be no life. Having the equivalent of a black hole as a soul was not enough to deserve obliteration via the Eater of Hearts. A black hole had once been a star after all. The souls he handed over to Ammit were not even that. They were devoid of the faint echo of light a black hole still sang about.

And humanity thought Hell, demons and the devil were frightening.

They knew nothing of the darkness that was within some of their own. Or the threats that Raguel protected everyone from.

Hell, not even his siblings truly understood.

Only Dad, Raguel and himself.

“Hey man, are you okay?”

Agent Morgan’s voice brought him back to the present. He liked this team of profilers, each and every single one of them. Agent Morgan was a particular gem: a protective light to guard the rest, but especially Ms. Garcia and Dr. Reid, the first of whom was so wholesome and kind, it was almost too painful to bear, and the latter of whom needed all the protection he could get. Dr. Reid was brilliant, especially for a human, but he reminded Lucifer of a stray puppy: sweet and ready to be adopted by anyone displaying the smallest shred of kindness. Thankfully, both Ms. Garcia and the doctor had Agent Morgan, who carried his fair share of scars judging by his reaction to Lucifer’s flirting, but who locked all his vulnerable parts away unless he was with his team. Agent Prentiss had a razor-sharp wit, a dark past, was smart and knew exactly how to prevail in a man-dominated field. She was also inherently kind. They all were. They may be different in many other aspects, but as he had told Agent Hotchner, they were all radiant; their inner Light strong and warm.

In fact, they were eerily like the people he had talked to all day: a little broken, a little hurt, but ultimately…

“Kindness,” he realized out loud.

“Excuse me?”

“We’ve talked a lot about the women who were assaulted by the pack,” elaborated the fallen angel. “We all agree that they are altogether confident, strong and outgoing, but what we haven’t said yet, is that they are unusually bright.”

“What do you mean by ‘bright’?” inquired Agent Prentiss curiously.

“You haven’t noticed? I haven’t seen all the victims, but the ones I saw and met were all very kind, warm and affectionate. What I would call a bright soul.”

They froze for just a moment giving Lucifer the opportunity to open the door for them.

“You’re right,” said Agent Prentiss, pointing at him. “They were all strong and confident and inherently kind.”

Lucifer looked at the woman who fit the description to the last detail. Agent Morgan seemed to realize it, too, because he took a miniscule step closer to her.

“Please, Agent Prentiss, do me a favor, and do not go anywhere alone,” pleaded Lucifer softly. “I think you might actually be in danger of becoming another target.”

She froze a bit, probably not having realized just how well fit into victimology.

“I won’t,” she reassured him.

Stepping inside the club boosted his mood as it invariably did. What particularly gave him joy was seeing Delilah already bustling about gathering everyone. Ever since her return from rehab, she was doing well. While Lucifer loved to use and consume recreational drugs, he did not generally allow them in the club, so she was safe. The alcohol had never bothered her and she enjoyed the club as much as he did. He knew she wanted to return, but it would be such a downgrade from the life she had experienced since she left. He did not want her to take a step back; he wanted her to evolve.

Recent years had shown her that becoming a celebrity and a singer was not what she desired. She detested the loneliness that came with it, and Lucifer could understand that all too well. He happily had her here, but she deserved more than that. She deserved to shine. She was laughing at something Patrick was saying, looked up, saw Lucifer and smiled at him softly. He quickly descended the stairs, and she approached him, not even hesitating for a second to put her arms around his lower back and hugging him tightly as he put his left hand on the back of her head and his right between her shoulder blades, careful not to touch where wings would spread from.

She _knew_ and she had not run away.

Sometimes, even months later, he believed she would suddenly come to her senses and run for the hills, but here she was, not only accepting his presence but welcoming his touch in a way he had not experienced since before his Fall.

He had told both Linda and Delilah, before he showed them (told them earnestly, not in jest, but in all seriousness), slowly working up to revealing his devil face. If he were not out of practice, afraid he was too burned out to even do it and if it were not completely hazardous for their bodies and too dangerous for the entire earthly plane, he would have made a tiny star as proof, but that was not really an option, was it? The radiation alone would damage them. Instead, he had shown his Pentecostal Coin and what he used it for (playing with gravitational fields by spinning the coin was like training muscles; the small and precise movements as challenging as the big and all-encompassing power that came with being the Lightbringer). Then he showed them what his library entailed and the stories it held. They believed him once he had slammed a knife onto his hand at full-force (after they refused to do it for him), successfully destroying the blade. Many weeks and multiple demonstrations and talks later, he finally demonstrated his devil face.

They had both gasped, grasping each other’s hands.

Neither of them had run. Dr. Linda said it was because he had done such a good job of preparing them, but he doubted it. Delilah Curtis and Dr. Linda Martin were simply that inherently good.

He would never forget Delilah’s comment after he changed back into the face they were familiar with.

_“So, that’s you?”_

_“Yes, that’s me.”_

_“Are you always this sad?”_

What on Earth could he have replied to such a statement?

Remembering Delilah’s words of compassion, he had held her just a tiny bit closer.

“You okay, Boss?” asked Larissa, his head dancer. She looked worried.

“Yes,” smiled Lucifer in return, clearing his throat. “Could everybody please gather around for second?” he asked, lifting his voice just enough so he was sure they would hear him. Together with the FBI agents, he told them what was going on, why he did not want any of them to leave the club by themselves, and how he offered them a bed here if needed. His staff was amazing as always, and they immediately worked out a plan to tighten security even further. Marcus, his head of security since Maze spread her wings, called in all extra-hands.

“Boss,” said Carl, his most experienced security guard aside from Marcus, “is Mazikeen coming?”

“Oh, I hope so. It would be a pity if she didn’t. You know how much she enjoys sex,” Lucifer could not help but quib, causing one of his first hires for the club to groan exasperatedly, which led to Lucifer writing a mental note on giving them all a bonus by the end of the month (he would call it hazard pay). “I called her, she’s…” The unmistakable light of a demon near him just tripped Lucifer’s inner alarm, “on her way.” If you asked Mazikeen, Dromos and the others, even Lilith herself, they would claim that demons had no soul, which was both right and wrong. They had Light, too, but it was born from the Hellfires, cool and smoldering like embers, steady, tough and hard to kill. However, if they were killed, the fire was extinguished and the life gone. And that, to Lucifer, made their lives just as precious as that of humans, angels and all of Dad’s soul-carrying creations. They were as fragile as humans, but tougher and meaner. No matter how much he knew Amenadiel itched for it, he would never lead his demons into war against his siblings. He would not stand for the slaughter of those under his care.

Nobody heard her come in, not even the two FBI agents, but how could they?

He wondered sometimes if his staff could feel it, the unmistakable presence of a predator in the room.

 _“You were awfully vague on the phone, Lucifer_ ,” growled Mazikeen in Lilium, which was by no means the first time she switched to her native tongue in the club, and Lucifer saw no reason to reply in English.

 _“I have a job for you. Usual pay_ ,” he replied calmly. He made no attempt to hide his fondness of her. Delilah’s crisis had given both Maze and him the insight that Maze needed to strike out on her own, away from him. She had been on the verge of returning to Hell, but then backed out at the last moment; Lucifer had pretened not to notice her tears as she turned her back on the only home she had ever known. It took a lot of courage to try and find your own place in the universe; Dad only knew how Lucifer had done so only under duress. It was the right choice, however, and she was traveling happily, working as a bounty hunter for hire. She had also struck up a strange friendship with Dr. Linda. And for the first time since they had known each other, it felt like the devil and Mazikeen were on equal footing, which was thrilling. Yet, it was also comforting to know that he could still call on her and know she would be there for him instantly.

From now until the end.

_“I’m all ears.”_

_“The man who hurt Sophie Wilson. He’s back and he’s with friends that share his urges.”_

_“Name?”_ Mazikeen may not have as many human connections as Lucifer had, but she had always despised rapists and she liked Sophie well enough.

 _“I wish. I need a demon’s ear on the ground, Maze_ ,” continued Lucifer, “ _We’re looking for two black holes, two followers and a fifth one that I suspect might keep it all together.”_

No more words were needed. The only thing as good at reading dark souls as the devil was a demon. She knew what he was looking for.

_“On it.”_

_“No kills, no mutilation. They’re_ mine _,”_ he growled.

“Understood,” said she in English before turning around, her mind on her mission.

“And Maze?” Lucifer called her back causing her to tilt her head. “Be careful.”

That made her laugh and ask in her native tongue, “ _What makes you think they can hurt me?_ ”

“ _Just a feeling. And Maze? If they are onto you and they threaten you…_ ” It was dangerous to give a demon a blank check. He trusted her with his life and the lives of the humans he cared about as well as most regular humans, but he did not trust her not to fall back to her calling. _“Run. If you can’t… Do what you must. I won’t punish the need for self-defense, but I will have to punish cruelty. Don’t make me.”_

_“I won’t.”_

The vow rang in the room. Even the humans, who had no idea what the two immortals were talking about, stiffened. A demon did not needlessly give her word to an angel, least of all to her lord.

 _“I will overlook certain penis-related cuts if they were intended for self-defense_ ,” smiled Lucifer coldly.

“ _Of course, my lord.”_

The former King of Hell laughed. It was so refreshing to hear that title uttered in a respectful but playful manner. She was just on her way out before she asked in English, “Is the hottie for me, Lucifer? You shouldn’t have.”

“Free will, dearest Mazikeen. Only if he wants to, and I doubt Agent Morgan is interested while on the job.”

“What about the female hottie?”

“Agent Prentiss, if you are interested in a tumble in the sheets with Mazikeen, my-“ humans always misunderstood what the word ‘servant’ meant to him, “lieutenant, bodyguard, right-hand demon and best friend, please feel free to do so now or after this case is closed. Agent Morgan, same offer to you.”

Both FBI agents looked more than a little thrown and Lucifer grinned devilishly.

“How about we close this case first?” breathed Agent Morgan, his eyes trained on Maze, but still managing to appear professional.

Mazikeen sighed, “Fine.”

With that, she left the club.

“That’s… different,” choked Agent Prentiss.

“Oh, I assure you one thing, Agent Prentiss,” smiled Lucifer, “she would give you a night to remember.” The lady’s already dark eyes widened just a bit to indicate that it sounded tempting. Lucifer had her pegged as generally heterosexual who was open for adventures with one of her own gender. Agent Morgan, whose eyes were still trained on the spot where Mazikeen had left, was definitely as straight as they came, and he would probably pick Mazikeen up on her offer.

These two together would definitely be a sight to be seen, and he so wanted to watch, but he had the feeling that this would make Agent Morgan very uncomfortable. That brief moment of fear in the man’s eyes came to mind. Lucifer may still be oblivious to a lot of human emotion, though Linda assured him that he was making remarkable progress, but he knew fear. Fear was the one emotion he knew inside out. Hell reaked with it. He could detect the slightest traces of it; and Agent Morgan had feared him the moment he started to flirt, making Lucifer wonder what happened to the man. He had the distinct feeling that it was not good.

Delilah softly delegated the staff back to work. They all seemed happy and amused despite the circumstances and Lucifer admired human resilience and their ever-present ability to find humor even in dark situations.

Delilah was good at this. He loved his club, but perhaps he should employ her as a manager, so that he was no more than its owner and entertainer, but instantly dismissed the possibility. She deserved her own club, which she could form into what she desired, and not having its owner prowling about every day.

“Oh look,” said Delilah after everyone was in position, her eyes trained on the entrance, “it seems like the FBI is taking the evening off.”

Surprised, Lucifer’s eyes followed her gaze and indeed, Agent Hotchner had just entered together with the rest of the team. With them was the short ray of light with dark hair named Ella Lopez. So far, he had not had the opporunity to talk to her, but it was hard not to notice her. Her arm was linked with Agent Jareau’s whose other arm was linked with Ms. Garcia. Lucifer knew how quickly bonds could form, but this was quick even for humans. Their light was already intertwined the way he usually witnessed with longterm friends or sisters, but he knew for a fact that the dark-haired lady just met the two members of the FBI. It was a sight to be seen. Even more beautiful was the sight of the group as a whole: how Agent Morgan relaxed into his seat with a smile, how Agent Prentiss jumped from her seat to greet her friends, how Agent Hotchner’s shoulders relaxed upon seeing them all together, and Dr. Reid, who looked excited, a little awkward and incredibly happy. Lucifer had no idea what this was, but even just temporarily being part of that Light seemed like just the thing to do.

“FBI field trip?” he addressed Agent Hotchner.

“There isn’t much we can do now. The area is heavily patrolled, and we’ve yet to identify our suspects. Instead of dwelling about the case alone in our hotel rooms, I thought it might be a nice change to come here,” said Agent Hotchner.

“Hotel rooms?” countered Lucifer, utterly appalled, “Oh no! No, no, no, no, no! No, I’m not letting you stay at a cheap hotel here in LA. Pack your things. I have more than enough guest rooms in this tower to harbor a small army, not to mention a couple of FBI agents. Maze no longer lives here and her apartment is big enough for six to seven people.” Agent Hotchner hesitated. “Imagine the convenience of staying here, being close to the abduction sights.” Practical men needed practical reasons, not emotional ones, for which he was grateful, because human emotion was incredibly complicated. Rationality was so much easier to deal with.

“Mr. Morningstar, we would not want to intrude-“

“If that were the case, I wouldn’t offer it to you,” countered Lucifer immediately. He liked having people around. Dr. Linda had told him that, together with abandonment, loneliness was a trigger for him; a deep-seated trauma that he had yet to overcome. She had suggested multiple times that he should look for a tenant he trusted, possibly someone from his staff, now that Maze no longer lived at Lux.

She had also warned him from offering it to strangers because he connected too easily (not that this applied here; he knew the team around Agent Hotchner; they would not betray him, and it was only temporary). They discovered that part about Lucifer’s character three months ago after she had asked him to write a list of every person he had made a connection with since coming to LA or, to be more precise, slept with. She had handed him a journal and promised to keep all the information confidential. Five weeks after that assignment, he attened his session with a total of twenty journals that included the names of 5976 lovers and what he remembered about them, well, with the exception of their desires as that was not even for his therapist to know. It turned out to be an unnecessary precaution since Dr. Linda decided not to read them. Instead, she had started crying for some reason (humans were bewildering that way), and asked him if he had her listed, too. Of course he had and they were the only pages she read before she returned the journals and told him to keep them safe or to destroy them, because he remembered too much about his lovers, and that, if anything ever happened to one of his lovers, he would automatically become a suspect. He had burned the journals once she made clear to him that, even though he had not betrayed his lovers’ innermost desires, he had such a personal insight into their soul that what he knew could be used against them if anyone ever found these journals (though he wanted to meet the burglar who had the balls to steal from the devil).

Since this session, Dr. Linda was oddly insistent on making sure he ‘did not pour too much of himself into these lovers’… whatever that meant. She seemed to believe that, instead of not really connecting to his lovers as she originally suspected, he was ‘treating each and every single one of them the way humans would normally reserve for close friends, longterm relationships and family,’ which then led to a lengthy discussion on why bringing up his family when it came to discussing sex was unacceptable, which was followed by what Dr. Linda insisted on calling a ‘more serious subject matter.’ Specifically they talked about what could roughly be summarized as prayer.

Celestials could exist and live without food, water, shelter, or even a physical body for eons without any effect on their mental or physical wellbeing. Adjustment periods were a necessity, sure; a physical body was always something to get used to. However, the one thing, celestials could not live without, was prayer. It was an essential ingredient to a celestial. Prayer was not what humans thought it was; it had very little to do with worship (though it could), but instead it was nothing more than having someone’s undivided attention – to have their thoughts, heart and soul open to you, not for consumption, but more for a spiritual boost of energy – that took nothing away from the giver but was essential for the taker. The system was autonomous, which meant that, as long as the siblings prayed to each other, no matter how far they were apart, it was enough for all angels to live on. Lucifer knew for a fact that he was Raguel’s only giver, had been since Dad had sent her to the edge of the universe. Raguel could basically live of nothing; she was the creator of energy, she hardly needed anything.

That was not the case for Lucifer.

As Lightbringer, he needed an enormous amount of energy, especially back in the early days of his existence when he had made the stars. Back then, especially during that initial phase before he properly learned how to deal with the energy, he had been in need of Dad’s undivided attention or the strain would have killed him. While his need for prayer had lessened over the years, angels had always considered him as a ‘taker’ regardless of how freely he in turn prayed to his siblings (and he had!).

It was not entirely fair, but what could he do?

Once life evolved on Earth and other planets all across the universe, the celestial family learned that life could pray to them as well, sometimes personally but – at least until the creation of the human soul (and a few others he was not supposed to think about while visiting Earth) – mostly domain-related. If you had a domain that was constantly on the mind of another lifeform, it could also count as a prayer. It had been a point of fascination for the entire celestial family including Dad.

For Lucifer, the problem did not really start until after the Fall. Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly maudlin, he called the Fall ‘the Great Silence.’ It was not just that they did not visit. It was that they stopped praying to him. It nearly broke him. Humans did not pray to him either, and the ones that actually did, he actively blocked out (they asked for _horrible_ things). The demons’ ember could not make up for that loss. For the longest time, the only thing that preserved his sanity were the Star Songs of all kinds of animals, but particularly the songs of canines and the whale songs, as well as the Sun Songs of birds. Later on his infrequent visits to Earth, he had learned that this single-minded focus they called prayer could be induced through music and through sex, so this was what he indulged in. While he genuinely believed that sex was never about you but about your partner and about what they desired, what he received in return was, apart from physical release, a form of prayer (again, it had little to do with worship; prayer in this context was just them being open to you in more than a physical manner). Sometimes, he felt the echoes of a former lover’s prayer even after returning to Hell, and it was his little glimpse of Light in the dark. He still had not quite figured out why it worked with music, too, but regardless, humans would forever be his favorite species, not only because he could have sex with them, but for their love for music and language.

Once Dr. Linda understood the importance of prayer, she seemed even more worried and asked him if that also worked for her or Delilah, which led to him expressing his gratitude for their sessions because he had her full attention, mostly, and they counted as a prayer. She equated it to a phone connection in an area with bad cell reception that broke off whenever your focus shifted. He liked the analogy. Delilah and Dr. Linda were wonderful, so was his staff. They did not always pray to him, but that was neither what he needed nor wanted, but they would gift him with these moments of undivided attention, and he enjoyed every second he was granted.

Speaking of attention, “What are my sexy FBI agent and his equally lovely technical analyst thinking?”

“Ah, man, you weren’t just miles away,” exclaimed Agent Morgan with a wonderfully charming smile. “I think you were on another planet just now.”

“Not another planet,” denied Lucifer and continued honestly, “another life, perhaps. Alright, my dear law enforcement, I have duties to perform, but feel free to grab any booth – the one by the bar is my favorite – or, if you wish, you can take the elevator,” he pointed them in the right direction, “and go to my apartment. Dr. Reid, there are quite a few books that might be of interest to you.”

“Dude, you’re seriously inviting a bunch of profilers to you apartment?” asked Ms. Lopez disbelieving. “That’s risky.”

“I live on the edge, Ms. Lopez,” deadpanned the devil. He did not lie, and he saw no point in conceiling himself. If they wanted to profile him, they should feel free to do so.

Delilah caught his gaze and nodded. Together they walked up to the piano grand, instantly causing the room to quiet down.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Lux,” Lucifer said into the microphone with a smile. “I am sure you’ve watched or heard about today’s press conference about killers roaming about in this city, yet you are here, and while I am happy to have you here tonight, please do not leave Lux alone. While I can assure your safety within these walls, I cannot do that for what’s out there. Ladies, if you are here on your own, make sure to join a group. Do not go home alone. If that isn’t possible, please talk to my staff. I am more than willing to pay for any expenses to get you home safely. Take care of each other.”

And with that said, he let the music take him. As he had practiced with Delilah this morning, he would play ‘ _These Boots Are Made for Walkin’’_ and ‘ _You Don’t Own Me’_ , but just to preserve the tone and keep Delilah on her feet, he then switched to ‘ _I Will Survive’_ and a rather spontaneous rendition of ‘ _Say Something’_. She glared at him playfully; he knew she preferred to practice first, which was a weird human desire, because apparently, songs did not just come to them, and even professional singers had to look up the lyrics or the chords occasionally. She knew how much he loved spontaneity, so they had this agreement of practicing some songs, but to let music do the rest.

 _Because I've had the time of my life_  
_No, I never felt this way before_  
_Yes I swear it's the truth_  
_And I owe it all to you_  
_Hey baby_

Forty-five minutes and many songs later - Lucifer singing ‘ _Sinnerman’_ solo, before singing another duet in the form of ‘ _Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me_ ’ – he was ready to call it a night. He convinced Delilah to let him know when she left so he could personally escort her home (there was no way he would let anything happen to hear) and then made his way over to the booth near the bar where his FBI agents were seated.

“Two options: I can either either plop down next to you, or you could join me upstairs in my home which you can inspect and analyze at your heart’s desire,” Lucifer smiled as alluringly as he would if he were offering sex.

“I’m serious,” Ms. Lopez interjected. “They’re _profilers_. They can predict your habits by noticing what you’re wearing. Aren’t you afraid what they’ll see when you let them into your apartment? No offense,” she smiled at the members of the BAU, “but I wouldn’t let you into my home.”

That made Lucifer chuckle, “I understand completely, Ms. Lopez. You would let them stay at a tattered, old hotel room and not invite them to your house for tea, dinner or drinks.”

Ms. Lopez was silent for a moment and then pointed at him with a grin, “Okay, you got me, but you people are all so nice, I can’t help it. How do you resist them, Penelope? Or JJ? These two are not profilers in case you didn’t know,” she informed him.

“No, they’re not, but Agent Jareau spends a lot of time dealing with the press and the family of victims, so you bet she knows her fair share of human behavior, and Ms. Garcia could probably tell what you order at Starbucks and all of your online habits together with the name of your childhood pet.”

“He’s got us there, Garcia,” smiled the outstandingly beautiful, blond agent, whose eyes gleamed with the same intelligence as every other member of the team. There was also grief there: old grief but still present. They all carried some sort of burden, even (or especially) bright Ms. Garcia and innocent Dr. Reid, and though they clearly did not share the same grief, they were there for each other.

“Come on, Agent Hotchner,” Lucifer urged the team leader. “I know you want to.” He smiled. “All access. I promise I’m not hiding anything. You can get all the information you desire. There’s a library upstairs, too, and a stunning view, as well as a generously stocked bar. And while I’m not offering sex, I’m more than willing to participate in any frivolous activity you’d like to experience,” he clarified.

Like a schoolboy, Dr. Reid lifted his hand,” I’d love to see that library, Hotch.”

“A penthouse in LA. The view must be amazing,” Ms. Garcia jumped in.

“I like the sound of that bar even though we shouldn’t drink tonight,” continued Agent Prentiss with a grin; she definitely enjoyed all of this. Agent Morgan also opened his mouth, but Agent Hotchner already gave in, lifting his hand for silence.

On their way up, Agent Morgan addressed Lucifer directly, “You have a beautiful club. Never been to anything like it. I love the layout; it’s open and safe. Your security is excellent and your patrons obviously enjoy their time here. But it’s the music that makes the whole place unique. You’re an excellent piano player, and people come here for the art as much as for partying. I would love to have a place like that back home.”

“I could certainly organize it. I’m sure Quantico alone would provide enough paying customers,” mused Lucifer. “I’ve been thinking about branching out for a while. I’m sure I’d find a manager.”

“No,” moaned Ms. Garcia, “it would feel so wrong without you.”

That was such a kind and flattering statement Lucifer was at loss for proper answer. Thankfully he did not have to, because Agent Prentiss started to tease Dr. Reid and was half-heartedly reprimanded by Agent Rossi.

“Well, perhaps, in that new place, they’ll accept the badge as sufficient credentials to get into the club,” she laughed, her eyes trained on Dr. Reid.

“Oh, did Kyle deny you entry?” grinned Lucifer.

“No, he didn’t,” replied the young genius defiantly. “He just… wanted to see my ID even after I showed him my badge.”

Lucifer laughed out loud, “Good man for recognizing children. He deserves a raise.”

Agent Morgan put an arm around the younger man in a gesture that was somehow both protective and teasing. The sexy agent was a born protector, so what had made him prey?

Before he could dwell on that, the elevator door opened, and Lucifer led Dr. Reid, Ms. Garcia, Ms. Lopez, Agents Prentiss and Morgan into his apartment, while he sent the elevator down for Agent Jareau and the two older agents. He always enjoyed people’s reactions to his home. He could see Dr. Reid’s eyes widen in wonder as he noticed the rows and rows of books, but he was not the only one. While Agent Morgan’s eyes definitely first took in Lucifer’s piano grand and longingly rested on the bar, he also inspected the books with more than polite interest. Ms. Garcia’s attention was also on the library as well as Lucifer’s sound system, and her fingers itched to make her way to small corner that held his computer (he may not be a hacker, but he knew his way around technology, thank you very much; he had spent weeks exploring the smartphone Delilah had insisted on giving him). Agent Prentiss reacted similarly as Agent Morgan, but her eyes rested on the balcony. He waited until Agents Jareau, Rossi and Hotchner entered his apartment before he said, “Go on! Explore at your heart’s desire. Young one, gloves are in the drawer to your right, if you can’t bear the thought of touching them otherwise.”

Agents Prentiss and Rossi were the first to move: the dark-haired lady striding toward the balcony, the Italian American agent toward the bar.

Agent Morgan’s arm was around the technical analyist, who was itching closer and closer to the only piece of modern technology in the room that was not a sound system, but the tall, sexy man held her back muttering, “I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean ‘go find the porn on my hard drive.’”

“Oh, that wouldn’t be much of a challenge for a technophile like Ms. Garcia, but she’s more than welcome to access my computer.” The wonderfully colorful lady that was the team’s technical analyst stuck out her tongue at her friend who playfully returned the gesture before he joined Agents Jareau and Prentiss on the balcony. Agent Rossi was inspecting the liquor.

“Do you want me to pour you a glass?” Lucifer offered, his eyes on the three colleagues who were admiring the view (“ _Damn, definitely should have thought more about that club owner career,”_ whispered Agent Morgan).

“Still on duty, I’m afraid, but I’d love to get back to you on that,” smiled the oldest man on the team. Agent Hotchner was carefully observing everyone, making sure everyone was safe while keeping himself at a distance.

That was unacceptable.

“Agent Hotchner,” sing-songed Lucifer appearing by the man’s side. “What is it that you want?” He managed to catch his gaze, and all he saw was pain.

“Nothing you could give, Mr. Morningstar,” was the reply.

“Trouble at home?” the fallen angel asked, leading the calm leader of the team to the nearest couch. He had no intent on seducing the man (not that he would reject the opportunity if the FBI agent desired it), but it seemed like the man was in need of an open, neutral ear.

His team, either too entranced by Lucifer’s home or too loyal to overhear their conversation, continued to talk to each other softly: Ms. Lopez and Ms. Garcia were at Lucifer’s computer, clicking through his extensive porn collection, but also somehow looking into his financial statements and apparently into his bank connections giggling gleefully as they did so. Agents Prentiss and Morgan were pouring over his Kurt Vonnegut collection (brilliant man with his fair share of demons and not the fun kind; Lucifer never managed to get him out of his funk). They were thrilled to find the personally signed copy of _Slaughterhouse 5_ with a note that thanked Lucifer for his ‘ _delightfully dark humor that inspired it all_ ’ and the devil could see how they almost burst with excitement and wanted to ask him questions about it, but they knew to give Agent Hotchner space. The young genius was currently unaware that there were other people in the room, too engrossed as he went through Charles’ personal notebooks and letters that Catherine had decided to give to Lucifer for safekeeping instead of little Kate (ten children! That seemed like punishment worth of hell itself). Agents Rossi and Jareau were going through his music collection.

Agent Hotchner seemed to realize how much space the team was giving him and his lips formed an infinitely fond smile. He then briefly told about his recent divorce, and how he had tried everything to be a good father, husband and Unit Chief of the BAU.

“You can still be two out of three,” said the devil calmly. “Let me tell you as someone with a very… complicated father-son relationship: the only thing you can do wrong at this point, is abandoning him. Listen to him when he’s telling you things, focus on him when you visit, make sure he’s your entire world outside of the job and he will never begrudge your duties. I didn’t, even though Dad was busy a lot, and I have a great number of siblings. The problem is that he stopped listening when he _was_ around.”

Agent Hotchner nodded slowly, his shoulders just a bit more relaxed and less tense. He also wished to explore Lucifer’s home, the devil could tell, so he poured him a non-alcoholic beverage (he had these, too; not all of his lovers drank alcohol).

He put glasses on the table next to the library, and was just on his way to his music collection when a hand grasped his forearm. Surprised, Lucifer’s eyes fell on Dr. Reid who looked speechless.

“Why on Earth don’t you have reading copies? These are all first editions or _manuscripts_. This… this must be worth a _fortune_ ,” whispered the young man. “How come you have them and not some museum or university?

“They were all personal gifts,” replied the devil calmly, “and I usually loan my collection to musems when I’m in Hell, but now that I’m here on Earth, I like to be close to them. Not so much for the words but for the memories they evoke. I don’t need reading copies because I know what it says.”

Dr. Reid seemed to take that statement as a challenge and told him to turn away from him, obviously having guessed that Lucifer knew exactly which book was where (probably because his mind worked similarly).

_“’Did he awake before you returned?’ inquired the gentleman._

_‘No; and neither he nor any of them suspect me.’”_

_“’Good,’ said the gentleman.”_ Lucifer continued, his hands crossed behind his back his eyes settled on the wall in front of him. “ _’Now listen to me_.’  _Oliver Twist_ , Book the Third, Chapter the Eighth, page 385.”

Haltingly, the young man read a passage from another book.

“’ _Die Haustür knarrte, durch den Flur ging es, langsamen, schweren, dröhnenden Schrittes nach der Treppe. Die Mutter eilte mit dem Geschwiser mir vorüber.’”_

 _“’Leise – leise öffnete ich des Vaters Stubentür. Er sass, wie gewöhnlich, stumm und starr den Rücken der Türe zugekehrt, er bemerkte mich nicht…’ Der Sandmann_ by Ernst Theodor Amadeus Hoffmann. The German ‘ _Romantik’_ Period was a wonderful literary age, lots of dark fairy tales. They got the devil pretty wrong though, as usual. Your accent is outrageous by the way, young one.”

Agent Prentiss chimed in with a quote from Victor Hugo’s _Notre-Dame de Paris_ and everyone else quizzed him on at least one book. Sneaky Agent Rossi (whose Italian was pretty impressive) even purposefully read a mistake that Lucifer caught easily.

“Who are you?” breathed Dr. Reid when each had their turn.

“I told you,” replied Lucifer calmly. “I’m the devil.”

“Oh my God!” exclaimed Agent Jareau.

“No, that’s my Da-“ but he halted when he realized that she was standing on the balcony, her gaze zeroed in on the neighboring building.

“JJ, what is it?” asked Agent Morgan sharply, the entire group in cop-mode.

“There’s a woman standing on the balcony railing... I think she-.“

Lucifer was by her side before she could finish.

 _“Don’t do it_!” Lucifer growled lowly, his full focus was on the young woman whose Light was dimmed to the point it appeared to be almost inexistent (Dr. Linda had once told him that clinical depression was the term humans used these days). He saw the nameless woman flinch, which meant his command had found its recipient. The tendrils of Hell were already reaching out to her; she was close enough to the brink that her soul already recognized her new lord.

He vaguely heard the FBI agents strategizing on how to get to the other side, but they would be too late, so he had to give them time. He lowered his head and his eyes fluttered closed, so that the humans near him would not see the Hellfire reflected in them.

Lucifer was the Punisher, the Enforcer of his father’s laws, because he truly believed them to be right and just. However, there were some arbitrary ones that he hated, and that he was still tasked to enforce.

There was no rule he detested more than the one-way ticket to Hell that came with suicide. You could be a literal saint, not committing a single sin throughout your entire existence, and you would still end up in Lucifer’s realm.

_“I don’t want you in Hell.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We know from Stewardess Interruptus that, in a six week period (which he called dry spell in the show) he had 92 lovers, so roughly 2 lovers per night. So, I chalked it up to 3 lovers a night, to make up for the dry spell (which included the return of his mother and the death of Uriel) => 6 years, 365 days, 3 lovers => 6570 lovers, take away “regulars” => 6000 people
> 
> On prayer: Credit goes to Silverwolf7’s “Like a Prayer” (fantastic story, you should read it)
> 
> References:  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kurt_Vonnegut#Later_career_and_events  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Dickens#Last_years
> 
> Next up: The BAU has a life to save, a case to solve and a mystery to unravel, and Derek is not entirely sure whether the case or the mystery should take priority.


	5. How to Save a Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and the rest of the team do their best to save a life, solve the riddle that was Lucifer Morningstar and finally realize that they need to focus on a case rather than a mystery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> First: I'm sorry for not updating last week. The past two weeks were crazy, as you could probably see from my lack of updating and from not replying.
> 
> I still haven't replied since a) I haven't had time, b) I thought you would prefer an update over my ramblings and c) right now, I'm so exhausted, I just hope there aren't too many mistakes in this chapter.
> 
> I hope to reply to all comments very soon. Be assured that these reviews give me life and that I love each and every single one of them.

Derek Morgan flinched. He still could not quite wrap his head around the enigma that was Lucifer Morningstar (but really, what did he expect from someone who genuinely believed to be the devil?), but now there was something about the man that troubled the experienced profiler deeply (that, and the fact that the Kid was fanboying. It took a lot for Derek’s favorite genius to be geuninely impressed by the intellect of another human being. Not that Reid was not respectful toward those of lesser intellect; as much as he loved correcting Derek and the rest of the BAU, he appreciated them for other qualities, and the Chicago-born FBI agents loved his quasi-baby brother for it).

However, Derek did not need to have the Kid’s IQ to know that the man’s aura screamed danger. The language he spoke was not as a raspy and growly as the one he had used to talk to the woman named Mazikeen. Instead, it sounded as clear as a bell, and had the most beautiful melody that Derek had ever heard. Regardless of the language, the man’s tone spoke of sincere anger and unmistakable desperation. He did not want that woman to jump.

In many ways, this mix of radiant beauty as well as serenity disguised as playfulness mixed with pure emotion expressed through the language perfectly summarized the man who spoke it. It took Derek a moment before he could focus on the matter at hand, but JJ was the first to prompt them for a solution. His colleague and friend always reacted far too personally to suicide attempts for it to be a coincidence. He had discussed it with Elle and later with Emily. It was obvious that JJ had lost someone close to her as a result of suicide. For the moment, this was irrelevant, and he addressed their Unit Chief.

“Hotch-“

“Go,” said his boss. “Take Emily and JJ with you. Garcia, I know this is not your computer system, but try to find out who’s living in that apartment. Reid, you stay, see what you can deduce from here. Rossi, call 911. Mr. Morningstar, I don’t know what exactly you’re doing, but considering the fact she hasn’t jumped already tells me that, whatever you’re doing, is working. Can you tell me who that is?”

“Eleventh floor,” said Morningstar, his voice around an octave lower than what Morgan was used to. “I don’t know who she is. She’s never visited Lux. She’s in her mid-thirties… _I can’t_. She’s almost gone.”

He was right. The short moment he used to communicate had her approaching the edge almost immediately.

“Morgan.”

And they were on the move. The elevator ride seemed to take forever. JJ was tense, so was Emily. As peculiar as Morningstar was, their main focus was on the woman.

“They will have made all necessary calls by the time we’re in the streets. Morningstar’s balcony is facing west, so her apartment is on the east-side of the building, eleventh floor.” His phone rang. “Talk to me, baby girl.”

“Okay, so I don’t have a name yet, but Reid found some binoculars and confirms Mr. Morningstar’s assessment regarding her age. She’s intent on jumping, but something’s keeping her from it. Reid says she looks scared. Morgan, please…”

“On my way, mama,” whispered Morgan calmly as they quickly made their way to the building. He hated it when his baby girl pleaded with him. There was only so much he could do and he hated disappointing her.

They heard the sound of sirens approaching, which meant that Rossi had fulfilled his task. Breathing heavily, they entered the building flashing their credentials to the doorman who quickly gave them access to the elevator. JJ was the first to press the button for the eleventh floor, her face a mask of professionalism, but her eyes betrayed her inner turmoil.

“JJ-,” said Emily softly, but was interrupted.

“Emily, don’t, please!” their colleague begged, and both Morgan and Emily nodded. They had a job to do, but she would have to tell them what was going on.

Later, after saving the lady’s life.

His phone rang again, “We’re on our way up, baby girl.”

“Her name’s Lily Jones. I don’t have access to her medical records yet, but her rather impressive career as a financial advisor has come to a screeching halt after she lost a total of twenty million dollars from two of her prime clients seven months ago. It also seems as if she’s been unaccounted for at her job more than twenty times in the past six months. She was fired last night… Oh, and her employer indicated that she’s been battling clinical depression for over two years.”

“Thanks, Garcia,” said Emily. “We’ll be with her any minute now. What’s her status?”

“Still there. Whatever Morningstar is doing, it seems to be working,” replied Garcia quickly.

“Lily?” called JJ, knocking on the locked door. “This is Jennifer Jareau from the FBI. Please, let us in.”

It was always the most harrowing part of proper procedure: asking for permission to enter an apartment from someone who could jump any minute. Ms. Jones did not answer, and JJ continued, “Lily, please, we know what you’re contemplating of doing and we must ask you to open the door. Otherwise, we’re letting ourselves in.”

Emily was shaking her head and Morgan nonverbally indicated that he would take the apartment below, so he might be able to save her in case she jumped. JJ nodded, and Morgan quickly took the steps to the appartment below. Thankfully, the neighbors had their door open: a woman in her late-thirties stuck her head out and asked Morgan, “Are you with the police? Are you here for Ms. Jones? I don’t know what to do.”

He flashed his credentials and she let him in.

“I don’t know her that well, but I heard her cry a few days ago and she has barely left the apartment, and she’s been very quiet lately. I haven’t even called 911 yet. How did you know? Did the angel send you?”

“The angel, ma’am?” asked Morgan as he followed her to the balcony.

“The one living at Lux. Mr. Morningstar. He’s the guardian angel of this neighborhood,” the woman continued, obviously happy to talk her way through her anxiety. “Crime’s gone down to almost zero since he lives here, and sure, the man likes his sex parties, but it hardly ever gets rowdy. If it does, we always get bouquets of flowers or chocolate or both, the really expensive ones from Switzerland or Belgium. Once my husband and I even received an invitation,” she giggled nervously. “We didn’t go, of course, but it was tempting. This is not the kind of place that has neighborhood meetings… I mean, this is downtown. If we wanted neighborhood meetings, we would’ve moved to the suburbs, but when we do organize something, he’s always there and manages to dissolve any conflict with a smile and a few charming words. Look, there he is!”

Derek blinked.

From this perspective, he knew why she would call the man an angel.

Morningstar was standing on the balcony a couple of floors up; far away yet close enough for the FBI agent to unmistakably recognize him. He also saw two distinct figures next to him, which Derek identified as Reid and Hotch. What was striking was Morningstar, however. He actually seemed to glow, and not in a gentle “angels, harps and Heaven’s Gates, _follow me into the light_ ” kind of way. Instead, the fiery, white Light was almost blinding and Derek wondered how Hotch and Reid were able to stand next to the man. The glow was a warning, a promise, and Derek finally knew what the club owner had hissed earlier.

_Jump and God’s Poison will be the last thing you see._

Reid had told them a little bit about what kind of devil Lucifer Morningstar represented: the fallen angel formerly known as Samael.

 _“You know,”_ Reid had said, “ _Of all the angels, not only did Lucifer receive the most ungrateful of jobs; he faithfully performed his duties. The bible speaks of an initial rebellion, but after being banned from Heaven, he reigned over Hell and enforced his father’s laws without question.”_

 _“Or,”_ Rossi had countered dryly, _“the devil cannot leave Hell, and he’s the source of all evil as we learn in Sunday school.”_

_“That’s actually an interpretation. Lucifer is known as God’s favorite son, the brightest of all angels, and Hell has been described as God’s gift to him in early scripts. Personally, that version of the devil makes more sense. Look at it from this perspective: Think of the worst UnSub you ever encountered. Would you want that person to rule the prison that holds all the other UnSubs you’ve caught?”_

_“You’ve got a point there,”_ Derek had admitted after a pause.

Seeing what could almost be called a vengeful angel just a few yards away, brought him back to that conversation, but then Hotch and Reid stood right next to him, and did not seem nearly as intimidated as they would be if Morningstar actually glowed. This had to be a trick of the light (though why his colleagues were not glowing like the club owner, Derek did not know).

Forcing himself to look away, Derek leaned over the railing and looked up. Ms. Jones was sitting on her railing, legs dangling, her head tilted toward the supposed devil’s balcony.

“He doesn’t want me to jump, does he?” he heard her ask. “He’s going to be angry if I do.”

“You’re right, Lily, he doesn’t want you to jump,” JJ immediately concurred, seeing her chance to talk her down. “He actually sent us here to talk to you.”

“He did?” asked Ms. Jones.

“Yes,” confirmed Emily. “Could you please step away from the balcony?”

“Are you going to lock me up?” she asked instead.

“No, but we recommend that you speak to a professional, and it might be beneficial if you stayed at a hospital for a few days. At the very least, you should avoid staying here all by yourself. Do you have anyone that you could call?” asked JJ gently.

Ms. Jones’s reaction was as expected.

People that were being talked down from the brink rarely cried or shouted. They were usually numb, quiet and apathetic.

Derek observed how her face turned back toward Lux.

“Do you think he’ll come after me if I step back?” she whispered, looking positively terrified at the prospect.

“Ms. Jones,” exclaimed her neighbor who had also joined Derek on the balcony. “How can you say that? He would never hurt you. If you don’t believe me, ask him!”

“Is that you, Mrs. Carlson?” asked the suicidal woman, her tone resembling that of a living and breathing human for the first time.

“Call me Charlotte, dear,” countered the lady.

“Lily,” offered Ms. Jones, “call me Lily.”

“Lily, go ahead and ask him,” suggested Mrs. Carlson.

“That’s a good idea…” began Emily, assuming that Lily would finally step away from the balcony and follow them to Lux, but that was shattered when Lily shouted (by no means loud enough for Morningstar to hear), “Am I destined for Hell? Will you drag me down no matter what I do?”

Derek had no idea why the woman would even think the club owner could hear her, but to his surprise, the light that surrounded the man just flickered and died. Seconds later, once Derek’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness, Hotch and Reid were the only ones remaining on the balcony.

“Oh,” whispered the suicidal woman. “I didn’t… Did I hurt him?”

“Probably,” said Mrs. Carlson thoughtfully. “He insists that the devil isn’t evil. That he punishes evil. And that he’s ‘never forced anyone to do anything.’ Your questions kind of implied that he has some sort of control over what happens to you.”

“He prevented me from jumping,” countered Lily forcefully.

“No,” denied JJ gently. “How could he do that from so far away? It was your decision, your call.”

For a long moment, Lily remained silent before nodding thoughtfully, “I think I’ll take that night in the hospital. Tomorrow, I’ll… I haven’t been home in a long time. Perhaps I should call my parents.”

“That’s a great idea. Let us accompany you,” offered Emily instantly, which was accepted.

“Will you tell him I’m sorry, Charlotte?” asked Lily. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

“Of course. Agent Morgan, will accompany me back to Lux?”

Derek looked at the calm, plump and hearty woman who had shown an impressive amount of steadiness during a nerve-wracking situation, and agreed happily. While Emily and JJ followed Lily to meet with the officers, firemen and the ambulance, Derek let Mrs. Carlson take the lead to head for the piano bar. They both halted upon hearing someone call her name.

“Paul!” she exclaimed and threw her arms around a tall, burly man who was obviously her husband. Quickly, in her endearingly babbling way that distantly reminded Derek of his baby girl, she told her husband what had happened, and where she was headed. Her husband was a quiet, solemn pool of tranquility. He briefly introduced himself once Mrs. Carlson finished her story. Her husband happily joined them, holding his wife’s hand gently. Once in the elevator, Mr. Carlson gently interrogated why the FBI seemed to know Mr. Morningstar. Thankfully, they had heard about the case in today’s press conference, and Derek observed how the man’s grasp tightened a tiny bit. His wife gently squeezed his hand in return, appearing as calm as she had been while talking to Lily.

The elevator ride took no time whatsoever given that Mrs. Carlson was more than happy to chat about her husband who was a big shot in a law firm, before asking Derek where he was from and what kind of training you needed to become a profiler. Frankly, she was lovely, and though her husband was less talkative, he was also genuinely interested in Derek as a person.

The elevator dinged and they entered the penthouse, which was just as grand as before.

Ms. Lopez, Garcia and Reid had joined Morningstar on the couch who was nursing a glass of liquor. Hotch was sitting in a chair that gave him a clear view of the elevator, and Rossi sat opposite of Morningstar, his elbows on his knees as he was leaning forward.

Derek’s boss nodded subtly.

“Emily called you?” asked Derek.

“Yes, she did. Well done,” confirmed Hotch, his praise as always solemn and quiet but resonating within the Chicago-native like a song before the man’s eyes flickered back to Morningstar.

“This is going to sound strange, but-“

“Oh, Mr. and Mrs. Carlson, what a pleasant surprise!” exclaimed the would-be devil as he quickly rose to his feet, but not before gently patting both Garcia’s and Ella’s hands. Only then did Derek notice just how close they were sitting to the man. He usually noticed this kind of body language effortlessly (as in: men sitting close to his baby girl; he was by no means jealous, but since the whole nightmare with Battle, Derek might have been a bit overprotective when it came to handsome guys near his dearest friend), but somehow, Morningstar’s closeness had not even registered (possibly because it had seemed like they were comforting him, and he had not taken advantage of their kindness). “What brings you here? Please tell me that you’re finally willing to try that threesome I’ve been offering for the past four years.”

Mrs. Carlson’s cheeks turned an impressive shade of red as she shook her head quickly and giggled, completely embarassed, “Oh Goodness, no!”

He sighed in response, “Of course, dear, apologies. What’s bringing you here?”

“Lily Jones,” replied Mrs. Carlson, her cheeks still flushed.

“Who?”

“My neighbor whose life you just saved,” replied the woman gently. Derek frowned: Garcia was the one to discover her identity: had Morningstar been too distracted to even listen?

“Ah, is that what her name was?” asked Morningstar distractedly, his voice uncharacteristically dispassionate.

“Yes, she wanted me to apologize to you in her name; she didn’t mean to hurt you,” she stated solemnly.

“There is no shame in fearing the devil, darling,” was the reply, his smile tired. “I meant to put the fear of God’s wrath into her; Dad is many things, but he’s not nearly as forgiving as the New Testament likes to claim. At least not when it comes to a moral imparative.”

“You mentioned earlier that ‘ _thou shalt not kill’_ includes more than murder,” Reid spoke up. “Does it include suicide as well?”

“Always.” The answer was resolute and without hesitation. He also did not look too happy with it.

“What about people who kill as soldiers or law enforcement?” asked Reid.

“Let’s just say that turning the other cheek is a rather modern interpretation, but…” he sighed, “it’s not that simple. I wish it were. There are two main aspects that allow you into Heaven or condemn you to Hell: the sin committed and the guilt you feel over it. The sin tags you, but it’s the guilt that traps you-”

The elevator doors opened and Lucifer briefly smiled at JJ and Emily who entered, obviously having fulfilled their duty.

“The guilt you feel is what primarily dictates your punishment. Often, I do nothing more than provide the rooms for souls to punish themselves. Often, not always. If there is no guilt but the sins committed are either too numerous or too severe, Azrael, the Angel of Death, my baby sister, will still recognize that your soul belongs into my domain. Very rarely, she’s tricked into delivering dark souls to Heaven’s Gates, but there awaits the Pattern who sees exactly who you are, and what you will do if you are allowed to enter. Few souls that should be in Hell go past the Gatekeeper.”

“Saint Peter?”

“No,” laughed Lucifer. “He welcomes all souls. My sister is an archangel; no saint could see evil where she didn’t. Uriel though; he sees everything.”

“What about the few souls that escape him?”

“The Silver City has never been my domain, but Light is. The Silver City is made of it; made of the remnants of Light I could not fit into the universe; spun and created by Mum who wanted a place for her children… No matter how well you disguise yourself, I will know if a dark soul enters the Silver City, and contact my brother… That is, if Michael doesn’t already know. Whether through my notification or because he senses the darkness himself doesn’t really matter. He sends them straight to me. They never arrive, of course,” a cruel, merciless smile formed on his lips. “No human soul could bear the Fall. They are obliterated.” He paused before he added. “There are three ways for a soul to be wiped from existence: Azrael’s blade that is only swung upon Dad’s command. It’s the simplest way to go: essentially painless but final. Second option is Ammit, the Eater of Hearts known primarily from Egyptian mythology: the end is vicious but quick. It’s also the cruelest of punishments that I’m capable of. Last is Michael who may cast you out of Heaven,” he shuddered, and even though Derek had lost a lot of his faith years ago, the man said it with so much emotion and sincerity that the Chicago-native almost believed every word. Morningstar certainly did. “And that-“ he halted before he exhaled sharply, “that is endless torture ripping you apart piece by piece.”

“You survived it,” interjected Rossi. Of course he did: whether or not the most experienced profiler in the room believed Morningstar or not was immaterial; he was so obviously taken by the club owner’s belief system, he could not help but poke into it further.

“Michael couldn’t cast me out, Agent Rossi. _Dad_ did. Michael just- he was loyal to Dad, just like all of my brothers and sisters, and Dad knew I could never hurt my siblings, so he sent the Warden of the Silver City, Heaven’s General, and Amenadiel, the Angel of Time and Heaven’s greatest warrior, to stop what humans and my siblings insist on calling a rebellion but really was just me demanding that angels, just like humans and every other soul in the universe, should have the right to free will. Dad disagreed, and with him, everyone else. Ironic, I know. I was beaten and bloodied, but it was Dad who had to cast me out. A human soul would have been obliterated on the spot.”

“How did you survive?”

“It helps being one of the most powerful entities in the universe,” replied the club owner who called himself the Devil nonchalantly.

“This is so much like Neil Gaiman’s _the Sandman_ series and the Lucifer character from the DC comics, it’s eerie,” exclaimed Reid happily. Derek had to talk to his younger colleague as soon as possible.

While they all accepted Mr. Morningstar’s belief that he was the devil, Reid should have posed the questions along the lines of ‘Have you taken this from Neil Gaiman’s _the Sandman_ series?’

“Oh, now that one I take exception to,” exclaimed Morningstar, apparently passionate about the subject. “First of all: do I look blond to you? I swear, since that series came out, so many people expect me to be blond it’s ridiculous. Second, while Michael is powerful, he has no more the ability to create matter than I do. All matter originates from radiation and that’s Raguel, our oldest sister. Third, the Presence is some weird mix-up of Mum and Dad, and really, what is it with monotheistic cultures and the dismissal of female celestials? Seriously! I mean sure, Mum isn’t a fan of humanity… or life, really… I think she would have been perfectly happy if it were just her, Dad, Raguel, Amenadiel and Michael for the rest of eternity, but I came next, and with me came the creation of Light and with that came life and Dad became distracted and-“ with every word he spoke, he looked sadder and sadder. “I don’t like the portrayal of me in these comics,” he continued, unwilling to discuss what were obvious issues he had with his parents, “he’s… he’s not evil, sure, and he refuses to lie, which I appreciate, but he… he’s no more than yet another biased version of me.” He sighed, lowering his head. “What else did I expect? Remiel was meddling with humanity. She thought she could warn you that I would be leaving Hell behind to come to Los Angeles. For someone with the Second Sight, my dear sister did not really foresee that the dreams she sent would lead to a comic series rather than a religious text.” He scoffed. “Really, angels have no idea how the world works these days.”

Silence followed that statement.

It was Ms. Lopez who spoke up first, “Oh wow, this is fantastic. I really hope you get the role for whatever it is you’re auditioning for. I love your devil, so much better than all ‘law-firms-serve-the-devil-and-Arnold-fights-against-the-devil-to-prevent-the-end-of-the-world’ movies that are out there. Did you write your own screenplay, because you should totally name the movie _Sympathy for the Devil_ unless there is some sort of copyright infringment?”

It was the expression that was the nail in the coffin.

The way Derek had Morningstar pinned (someone who genuinely believed himself to be the devil), he should have been offended by her exclamation.

Or at least defensive.

Or should have laughed it off.

Instead, his expression was almost inhumanly serene, which went against the extroverted personality Derek had believed him to be.

“Thank you, Ms. Lopez,” replied the club owner softly. His hands twitched as if he kept himself from reaching out to her.

Derek mentally repeated her words, and finally realized that it was the love confession that he responded to. Being the devil – and the biblical punisher but non-evil devil at that – you probably did not hear many declarataions of love over the course of a lifetime.

The experienced profiler’s thoughts came to screeching halt once he realized that he was actually toying with the idea that Morningstar did not only believe that he was the devil but truly was more than the eye could see.

Damn, he really needed to talk to Reid and Hotch, and ask them what they witnessed on that balcony.

“Mrs. Carlson, is there anything I can do for you?” asked the owner of LA’s most exclusive piano bar. His tone was mesmerizing, almost hypnotic.

“No, there isn’t, Mr. Morningstar, thank you,” said she, sounding as if she was not entirely honest.

“It’s Lucifer, please, Mrs. Carlson, and I’m sure there is something, even though it’s not nearly as dirty as I would like,” he teased her with a charming smile.

“Oh,” she giggled briefly, her cheeks flushed, but she sobered quickly, “unless you have a remedy for healing sequelae and tubal factor infertility, you cannot really help me.”

Morningstar’s expression was crestfallen, “My apologies, Mrs. Carslon, but healing is not my domain, and Dad’s blessing is required for this level of repair. Even if I called my brother, he wouldn’t be able to do much.”

She smiled gently, “No worries, Mr. Morningstar, we’ve now been looking into adoption, though it seems like it would be easier to become foster parents. The whole system is very complicated, and Paul is a lawyer, so I cannot even imagine what it’s like for people without a legal background.”

Morningstar brightened, “Oh, that is not a problem. While I will never understand your wish to raise small humans, I know the Acting Director of the CDSS personally, so I can put in a good word for you if you truly desire to have a spawn of your own.”

Mr. and Mrs. Carlson thanked him profusely, then apologized for the intrusion, and that they should really leave, but – if at all possible – they would contact him soon about his offer, which Mr. Morningstar readily accepted.

Ms. Lopez decided that it was time for her to leave as well since she needed to go to the lab early tomorrow morning.

“Ms. Lopez,” said Hotch, “let one of my agents accompany you.”

“Not necessary,” the low voice of Mazikeen Smith resonated in the room. She seemed to have entered via the balcony, which in an on itself should startle Derek more than it did (which told him a lot about the kind of day they were having). “I’ll bring her home safely.” She smiled at the forensic scientist hungrily.

“Any news?” asked Morningstar, very serious and not at all surprised by her sudden appearance.

“A demon’s ear won’t be much help,” was her reply, obviously displeased. “Whatever they do and whoever is involved, they’re not doing any shady business that I’m privy to.”

“That’s actually very common for these kind of UnSubs – unknown suspects,” Hotch automatically clarified, “they work as a pack and trust nobody outside of said team.”

“I see,” muttered Ms. Smith as she tilted her head, “what exactly am I looking for?”

“What have you been told so far?” asked Rossi, both fascinated and a bit puzzled. “And may I point out that going after these men is very dangerous?”

The smile she offered the experienced profiler was positively lethal. “I want to see the pack capable of defeating me, handsome.” She strolled over to where Mr. Morningstar was standing. “He told me that I’m looking for two dark souls, two sycophants and one of unknown function. I’m a predator, I know how to hunt my prey.”

“Look-“ began Hotch, but Ms. Smith interupted him and zeroed in her focus on Derek. Her smoldering eyes were both a promise and a warning, and the profiler suddenly felt like an antelope preyed upon by a lioness.

“Take me down, tiger,” she grinned, and Derek had the sudden urge to flee. He knew what it was like to be prey; he really did not want to experience it again.

“Down, girl,” commanded Morningstar, though he was grinning widely, rather amused by the display, which indicated that her aggressive advances were not too serious (Derek hoped). “That is not the way to court potential human lovers. You’re scaring him.”

Derek knew he should contradict that statement, but he definitely feared her, and there was no point in denying it.

“Okay,” said JJ, protectively stepping into Mazikeen’s line of sight, with Emily right by her side. “We will do it.”

The would-be demon’s eyes sparkled with delight, “Hell, yeah! I’m all in, ladies. I like your new friends, Lucifer, I like them a lot.”

The club owner looked as if Christmas was coming early this year, and guided both Garcia and Ms. Lopez to the coach, also silently asked Reid to sit down again, “Oh, this will be a treat!”

“Go on,” Ms. Smith offered, licking her lips, “Take me.”

That should not cause Derek’s blood to rush south, but her tone had that effect on him.

JJ and Emily attacked in unison.

Thankfully, the shift of energy suppressed the primal parts of his brain and triggered Derek’s martial arts background, so he could neutrally observe how effortlessly Morningstar’s associate took down two experienced FBI agents. He also noticed how carefully she avoided harming his colleagues. She still beat them handily and with frightening ease (he knew JJ’s and Emily’s fighting styles. They were by no means defenseless). Second later, a smiling Ms. Smith had JJ on the ground and Emily pinned against a wall.

“I like this kind of foreplay,” she breathed.

“ _Mazikeen_ ,” the warning tone had her take step back. “I believe she has sufficiently demonstrated that the pack is no match for her, Agent Hotchner. Ms. Lopez, nothing will happen to you while you are with her, you have my word. Of course, if you wish to get to know Maze on a more intimate level, I’m sure she’s game.”

“Absolutely,” smiled Morningstar’s friend offering her arm to Ella who took it enthusiastically.

“That was so cool!” she exclaimed, but then worriedly looked at JJ who was getting up easily. “Are you hurt, Jay?”

“Just my pride, Ella,” replied JJ ruefully, but she was smiling. “Thank you.”

“Oh, you were doing fine,” commented Ms. Smith dismissively. Her statement was interrupted by the familiar ‘ding’ of an elevator opening, and Derek saw Ms. Curtis and Dr. Martin from the corner of his eyes. “For a human. I’ve yet to lose a fight against non-angelic opponents.”

Hysterical laughter escaped Dr. Martin, “Ha ha ha, good one, Maze, great! So funny,” her eyes were wide and her voice conveyed signs of panic. “Right!” She approached Mr. Morningstar who instantly walked over to the bar and poured his therapist a glass of amber liquor from a bottle that looked expensive… There were so many things wrong about this scenario, Derek did not know where to start. It did not get any better when she accepted the glass and took a huge gulp exhaling sharply, “So, what did I miss about this conversation you two are having with well-respected members of the Federal Bureau of Investigation or the PFLEA as I like to call it, as in Principle Federal Law Enforcement Agency, the domestic Intelligence and Security service of the United States of America?” Her hands were shaking slightly.

“Dr. Linda,” said Morningstar hesitantly, “are you quite alright? You seem stressed.”

Again there was that hysterical laughter, which seemed to echo in the room.

“Stressed? No! Why would I be stressed?” protested Dr. Martin, not very convincingly. She emptied the glass. “There is nothing to be worried about, I mean, it’s not like you’re hiding some gigantic secret about your-“ Ms. Curtis quickly stepped in and took the glass away.

“Breathe,” she whispered, but it was so quiet in the room and Derek stood close enough to hear her, “he hasn’t committed any crimes. They’re both here legally.”

Dr. Martin’s wild expression lost some of its panic, “Yes, yes, you’re right. I am so sorry, you must think I’m a lunatic,” she chuckled nervously. “So, I just came in to make sure you were alright, Lucifer. Delilah was a bit worried, especially when she heard about the suicide attempt close by. Don’t you think we should talk about this?”

“She didn’t jump, Dr. Linda. All is well.” Something about Morningstar’s tone said that not all was well and that Dr. Martin was onto something.

“I would really like to talk about this. Now. Here. Just the two of us. I don’t think we should postpone this to another day.”

“Of course,” said the club owner slowly, baffled and a bit sad, “My dear agents, I’m afraid our chitchat must be cut short, but please, feel free to gather your things and either move into Maze’ old rooms today or tomorrow.” He talked over the choked sound that escaped the psychiatrist. “If you would like to leave the hotel tonight, my staff will be informed and will show you the way. I would honestly prefer doing this myself, but I’m afraid this session will take longer.”

“We understand,” accepted Hotch without missing a beat. “Thank you for your generous offer. I will discuss it with my team and we might bring our luggage tomorrow, but not today. Ms. Lopez and Ms. Smith, you’re welcome to come with us.”

“Sure, bring her home, but I’ll pass, thanks,” said Ms. Smith. “I’ve got a couple of souls to hunt down. Lucifer, mind if I borrow the soul-catcher?”

For a moment, her former boss visibly froze.

“I do and you won’t,” was the resolute answer, more serious than Derek had ever heard the playful man speak. “The soul-catcher is not to be used on the earthly plane.” Then, his tone shifted and became more indignant and less serene. “The last time anyone thoughtlessly – read: one of my idiot brothers – thought it was a great idea to use it, I spent three days undoing the darkness that encompassed the better part of the northern hemisphere, or as it was falsly depicted ‘the ninth plague of Egypt’. So no, the soul-catcher will not be used outside of Hell. I merely took it with me to make sure Dromos won’t be using it as a toy.”

“He wouldn’t dare,” hissed Ms. Smith.

“Oh, he would. Once I’m gone long enough, he absolutely would.”

“He’s loyal to you,” frowned the dangerous woman.

“Yes, he is, but to me and to me only. He doesn’t particularly like humans and he loathes angels. Once he thinks I wouldn’t come back, he will want to use it to look for me.” His gaze caught that of his friend. “Maze, if I didn’t think you could find them without aid, I wouldn’t have asked you to look for them. This isn’t Hell. Searching five humans in a pool of four million living souls isn’t meant to be easy. Dark souls don’t stand out the way they do back ho-the way you’re used to. They’re hidden within the bright light. Try to look for the two followers, and be careful.”

Thoughtfully, she nodded, “Got it.”

Without another word, she left the room, not even bothering to say goodbye, but then Derek was not sure if he could have replied. In this moment, the profiler did not know how to set his priorities. They had a terrible case to solve, but the mystery that was Morningstar was mesmerizing, and he really needed to talk to his team.

Ms. Curtis was the one to accompany them to the exit, but not without Morningstar wishing them all a good night, ensuring them that he would be at the LAPD precinct at 8 AM tomorrow. Once they bid their farewell to Ms. Lopez whom Detective Espinoza offered to escort home (instead of going home with Detective Decker, he had apparently decided to join the patrol cars, but he was happy to drive the forensic scientist back to her apartment). As soon as Derek was sure that only the team remained, he confessed, “From where we were standing, it appeared as if Morningstar was… glowing, for lack of a better word; contradict me if you didn’t see that, JJ. Emily.” They didn’t. “Kid, please tell me that was just a trick of the light.”

“From where we were standing,” replied Reid, “he didn’t-”

Relieved, Derek exhaled, but it got stuck in his throat when the genius continued, “But the language he spoke has no root in any human or fictional language that I recognize. He held her in place – that much was clear – and he was really upset all of a sudden because of what she said. We weren’t close enough to hear her and he couldn’t have read her lips since he didn’t use any binoculars. I didn’t translate anything she said. Yet, he knows what she said. His library is… Guys, I’m not sure if you understand how much money is in that penthouse. I only saw a few of the works he has there, and some of them are absolutely priceless gems. Every single one has a personal inscription. From what I’ve seen, he’s got to be a billionaire at the very least. And that is only from a financial point of view. He’s a genius, and based on what I’ve seen so far, he surpasses my intellect in several fields, though I cannot wait to discuss astrophysics with the man, given he has a special interest there.”

“What are you saying, Spencer?” asked Rossi incredulously. “That you believe he’s the actual devil?”

“I don’t know,” confessed the young genius quietly, uncharacteristically unsure. “We all know he believes it, and – unless this is some elaborate hoax of impressive proportions – I have found no evidence that contradicts his views.”

“Well,” said Emily after a moment’s pause, “as you said: it’s almost impossible to prove a negative.”

“Sure,” chimed in Garcia, “but shouldn’t it be easy to prove that someone’s human? He’s very… he’s flesh and blood, alright. Amazing flesh admittedly, and I don’t really want to know about the blood. He’s-his computer stores the largest porn stash I’ve ever seen. Very inventive stuff, too, a few kinks, but no torture porn, nothing devious. His books check out, and he’s loaded, so there you go, Reid. He’s rich and that makes him eccentric, I guess. He’s not a bad guy, though, is he? Sir, what do you think?”

Hotch was quiet for a moment, “I agree with you. He’s not a bad guy, and as of now, there is nothing we can say or do about who he is. He’s helping us and he’s helped us save a life today. Well done, everyone, in case I haven’t mentioned that yet. I must confess that I’m unsure of who Mr. Morningstar is, but I don’t think he wishes us ill and he wants to catch the pack as much as we do. Let’s do our job, and figure out the mystery that is Lucifer Morningstar later.”

The calm and collected tone never failed to soothe Derek’s frayed thoughts. Hotch was right. They had five true monsters to catch. Neither Ms. Smith – who called herself a demon – and Mr. Morningstar – who believed to be the devil – had shown any signs of true sadism or cruelty. Even if the devil was real, it appeared that the darkness he was supposed to bring in his wake was no match for the true evil you could find within humanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adoption_in_California  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/California_Department_of_Social_Services  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Federal_Bureau_of_Investigation  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plagues_of_Egypt#9._Darkness_for_three_days:_Ex._10:21–29
> 
> Title from: How to Save a Life by the Fray
> 
> Next up: Linda deserves a raise.


	6. The Devil's Therapist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Linda is having a session with her most challenging patient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay and thank you for your continued support.

“Dr. Linda, are you sure you’re quite alright?” asked Lucifer as soon as his guest were out of earshot.

Her earshot.

Not his.

He was scarily good at guessing the hearing range of humans.

She took a deep breath, “You cannot lie. I understand, Lucifer. We’ve already talked about this in detail: your father called you a liar even though you were being truthful, and all of your family believed him. This kind of rejection and false accusation has led to a deep-seated psychological response that prevents outright dishonesty in the form of lying.”

“But?” he probed further. His expression reminded her of that of a little boy eager to hear his parents’ advice and if that was not a scary concept (the mental wellbeing of one of the most powerful entities in the universe was in her hands), she did not know what was.

“Do you have to be quite so honest with the FBI?” she asked a bit desperately.

“What is it with your fear of the FBI, Dr. Linda? They haven’t done you any harm, have they?” It was interesting how his tone shifted from innocence to a dangerous undertone that promised damnation to whoever harmed her. The tone had frightened her in the beginning, this realization that he absolutely would smite her enemies without question because she was _good_ and therefore, her enemies had to be _bad_ (such a childish worldview from such an ancient soul… she still had trouble wraping her mind around that), but now that she knew that she could stop him with a simple ‘please, don’t’, this tone had become something akin to a security blanket. She was absolutely sure that no harm would ever come to her as long as he was with her, making her feel as safe as she had last felt when her father was still alive.

“No, I’ve never dealt with the FBI before in my life,” replied Linda. She had worked as a consultant for LAPD cases, but the federal bureau had certainly never knocked on her door for advice. “But… Given the circumstances, I may have been doing some digging into government-paid paranormal investigators.”

“You’ve been watching _The X-Files_ , haven’t you?” laughed Lucifer, his eyes amused and mischievous. “There is no such department in the FBI.”

He said it with the certainty that he usually reserved for ‘oh, yes, he’s definitely heading for Hell. Dad alone could remove that tag, and he won’t, he hasn’t in a long time’ and she had no reason whatsoever to doubt him.

“What about the CIA?”

“They’ve ceased all attempts of apprehending members of my family in the 50s,” replied Lucifer with a dark smile.

“They tried to hurt you sixty-five years ago?” asked Linda incredulously, her heart beating fast.

“No, these cowards wouldn’t have dared going after an archangel on their first try. They went after one of my baby sisters, Muriel. She… Her domain is relief of pain, and she’s the patron of nurses. She’s such a gentle soul, and, I think, just like Azrael is my favorite baby sister, Muriel is Raphael’s. He called me for help when she was abducted. They never tried again.”

She knew he had never killed anyone – he had told her as much months ago – but he had also told her that his father had made him a torturer. She did not doubt that Lucifer had made the CIA pay for their foolishness and there was little he would not do for the ones he loved, and Raphael was the only ‘archangel’ brother he invariably spoke fondly off.

It had taken Linda several sessions after what she liked to call ‘devil reveal’ to realize that Lucifer very firmly differed between the angels that came before the creation of humanity –Amenadiel, Raguel, Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, Remiel, Gabriel, Uriel and Azrael – and the siblings that came after, bound to the Silver City and their domains all connected either to the Silver City itself or to Earth. There was no hierarchy in the divine family, but all born after humanity’s rise Lucifer viewed as the ‘little ones that needed protecting,’ and he had deliberately kept them out of the Rebellion knowing that his father’s anger might hurt them. Whatever that ‘rebellion’ had looked like, the more Lucifer let slip, the more Linda thought that this was just an enormous fight between father and son blown out of proportion (unfortunately for Lucifer, these fights were dangerous if you had the ability to break the universe in a fit of anger). If there was one thing the psychiatrist had learned so far, it was that celestial communication sucked.

“What is going through your head, doctor?” asked her most challenging and rewarding patient gently.

“Your siblings,” she answered honestly, “how protective you are of the Earth-bound ones even though most wouldn’t hesitate to curse your name.”

The statement should not have the power to shatter the ethereal being before her. He had told her this himself, but there it was: that heartbroken expression that won out whenever there was no anger present.

“They were either not even born or too young to understand what was going on. They trusted Dad as I trusted him when I was their age. It’s normal, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she confimred, “that is totally normal. It’s also natural to feel hurt by that. You had no allies and were accused of… well, mutiny; treason, really.”

Lucifer waved her statement away. How he reacted to allusions to his Fall depended on his mood. Some days, he took it well; other times, she was suddenly alone in the room. Today, he was almost dismissive of his trauma (which either indicated that he was preoccupied with other matters, or that he was in an excellent mood, which was unlikely given the circumstances).

“Raguel would’ve been on my side if she’d known. That reminds me. I promised Agent Morgan that I would call on her, and it’s been too long since I last prayed to her. Would you mind if I did it right now?”

It was interesting to observe that, even though the FBI was on the forefront of both of their minds, Lucifer was obviously quite fond of the FBI agents, fond enough apparently to voluntarily contact his sister because one of them asked him to… Favorite sibling or not, Lucifer consciously and unconsciously avoided any communication about and to his family unless he had no other choice. The fact that Agent Morgan coaxed this kind of concession from her patient was remarkable.

Lucifer’s word was ‘his bond’ as he liked to point out, so Linda knew that he would contact Raguel for sure, but she knew better than to prevent him from doing so now. He had made a promise to contact her, but he had not promised Agent Morgan _when_ and, as Lucifer had once told her, _‘decade, century… it’s all the same to me. The problem is that you humans change as fast as the wheather.’_ Besides, she was curious how prayer worked between angels. He had told her quite a bit about the meaning of it, but she had never actually witnessed the act.

“Please, go ahead,” said she. “Do you want me to leave the room?” Curiosity or not, her patient’s wellbeing took precedence over her desires. As if the thought of desire alone was enough to earn the devil’s full and complete attention, he tilted his head and inspected her.

“Not at all, but feel free if you wish to do something else in the meantime. It will take a few minutes.”

“I’m good here,” she smiled, as always a bit charmed by how considerate he was of her time (after she had explained to him that he could not barge in on her other sessions; try explaining the term ‘privacy’ to an angelic being that was entirely unfamiliar with the concept of it. She had learned that ‘closed doors’ had an entirely different meaning for Lucifer: not safety or privacy, but torture and despair.

Her patient folded his hands, closed his eyes and lowered his head; the display was reverent and practiced in way even the most devout believers could not hope to imitate, and it made her irrationally angry at Lucifer’s family (which included God himself) for condemning him to Hell, and for letting him rot there without support or a word of kindness.

Lucifer was rarely this quiet, and if he was, it was usually because he was listening to the person he was with. Linda almost fidgeted a bit into this unnatural stillness; it was almost as if he was no longer with her.

‘ _Prayer is giving someone your undivided attention, Dr. Linda. That’s all it is. You don’t have to be in church to pray to a celestial. On the other hand, you can pretend all Sunday in church and not reach anyone, because your attention is divided between your worries and the one you try to pray to.’_

_‘So-’ she stuttered. It made sense given what he had told her, but how could you both pray as per Lucifer’s definition (celestial rules) and express your needs and wishes at the same time? And that thought made her realize just how need-driven, almost selfish, prayers often were. ‘If I wanted God to hear me, what do I do?’_

_The devil looked at her intensely but silently as he sometimes did when one of her questions actually made him think._

_‘I would personally suggest you don’t. Since you are a medical professional, I would strongly advise you to pray to Raphael; you’re more likely to get a response-‘ a beat. “I understand what you mean, of course. Dad does not need prayer, but… For the sake of humans, I hope he listens to your pleas. He never talks back to me, and given my brother’s frustration-” that was an interesting choice of words given that “_ my brother beat me within an inch of my life when I flatout refused to return to Hell despite his machinations _” was a more accurate description (now Amenadiel was a frightening, unpredictable entity), ‘I have this personal theory that he doesn’t really respond to my siblings’ prayers either. Oh, I wonder what that is like?” There was little sympathy in his eyes, but fact remained that there was this ever-present worry whenever his siblings were mentioned; a love he seemed unable or unwilling to entirely reject. And that was what made Lucifer both the most cynical and idealistic person she had ever met._

_“That hasn’t really answered your questions, apologies. Initiation is key. Make them listen to you and let go off your own worries. Think only of them, or the domain they uphold. When they make the effort to focus on you in return, it’s not too bad if your own worries overtake your thought process, though it distorts the connection.”_

Not long after that, she had asked him whether prayer was the only way to salvation, an idea that caused him to laugh joyously ( _“No, why would you think so? Your reverence for God or Gods has no effect on where you end up. The most convinced atheist may end up in Heaven and the most devout soul may go to Hell depending on what they did in a lifetime.”_ ).

She was so lost in thought that she almost missed Lucifer unfolding his hands.

“How’s she?”

“Hm?” he tilted his head, confused. “I wouldn’t know. Last time I heard from her was before my Fall from Heaven.”

“What?” snapped Linda, feeling a sense of dread. “How is this possible? I thought communication via prayer is instant.”

“Yes, as long as the person you’re praying to resides on the plane of existence that holds Heaven and Hell. But I’m on Earth, while Raguel is at the very edges of the universe, and I’m bound to certain laws of time and space. Not all of them, thankfully, or Raguel wouldn’t get to hear any of my prayers. The universe expands faster than the speed of light after all. Before falling out with my siblings, Amenadiel was usually kind enough to bend time, so that the message and response could be conveyed almost instantly. He stopped doing that after I Fell, and I haven’t heard from her since.”

“Are you telling me that Raguel might not know of your Fall?”

“It’s very likely that she doesn’t. I Fell around 750,000 Earth years ago. Prayers may reach Hell, but they never leave-“ he stopped abruptly and his pained expression alone made her want to slap Amenadiel if she ever met him face to face, “so the next time I could pray to her was thousands of years later after Dad asked me to rain fire and brimstone over Sodom, Gomorrah and the somehow the forgotten cities Admah and Zeboiim. Thanks to a deal I made with Dad, I was able to visit Earth more frequently after that. Still, I haven’t heard a reply so far, so it’s unlikely that she received any of them yet.”

“Are you telling me,” began Linda, “that your beloved, older sister who, and I quote, ‘created matter. She is radiation and, as such, unstable,’ and who has a particular fondness for you, may have no idea that your father shunned you and that every member of your family abandoned you?”

“Yes, why?” he looked at her with such bewilderment, as if the thought that anyone, not to mention a sibling, would stand up for him, did not even occur to him. “She’s fine, doctor. She doesn’t need prayer as I do. She won’t perish in my absence.”

A choked chuckle escaped her, “It’s not so much that I fear her demise, Lucifer, it’s the universe I’m worried about.”

“Dr. Linda,” began Lucifer gently, “she may be unstable in a very physical manner, but she loved making the universe. She would never wish to harm it.”

“Not even to protect you?” asked the psychiatrist.

“I don’t need protecting,” countered the devil confidently.

Linda, who had a younger brother, and who knew just how irrationally protective she could be, just shook her head, “Does she know that?”

“The universe is safe,” replied Lucifer calmly, “the Silver City might receive a bit of a thrashing, but that’s about it.”

“Okay,” she accepted slowly. “I believe you.” She cleared her throat, “Now that I know that Raguel won’t destroy us anytime soon, I’ve got to address two more issues.”

Lucifer sighed, “The case and what Lily Jones wished to commit?”

“Precisely,” she confirmed, already sensing that he was rather unwilling to talk, given that he refused to even mention the word suicide. It was one of his triggers, which was understandable given his father’s rather Draconian approach to punishing said action. “Let’s talk about the FBI agents.”

Just like she hoped, the suggestion had an instant, positive effect on his mood. With a bright smile, he told her about the latest souls he took under his figurative wings (because it was obvious just how much he liked them), “Where to start? There is Dr. Spencer Reid, he’s a baby, really, a very young soul, socially awkward but also brilliant. He’s bright and inherently good. He also reminds me of a stray puppy most of the time, and he was dragged into this by a father figure, though that person no longer is part of the team.”

His smile dimmed as he spoke. “Despite having seen too much, there is a baffling innocence to him that I cannot quite comprehend.” Linda remained silent, though further down the line she would have to challenge him on the fact that Lucifer had obviously recognized a part of himself in Dr. Reid. “I’m not sure what happened exactly, but he despises his biological father, and found a real father in the man who brought him into _this_.” Slow, smoldering anger colored every part of his tone, and Linda knew she would have to challenge him soon. “Then we have Miss Penelope Garcia, technical analyst, and oh, she’s lovely.” With a smile on his lips, he described the playful, sweet lady whose bright and colorful soul held the team together.

“Then there is Agent Emily Prentiss. She’s smart, tough, strong, and slowly accepting that she’s found a home with her colleagues. Her past is dark and there’s pain and disillusionment with something that was once important to her. She’s bright, confident and inherently kind, a protective lioness, a fighter to the core, used to avoid any display of weakness or pain. Agent Jennifer Jareau’s never tapped into the same darkness, but there is an old loss to her that dims her light whenever confronted with it. Just like Agent Prentiss, she’s inherently kind and oh, beautiful inside and out with nerves of steel and a heart of gold. Then there is Agent Morgan… Now if Agent Prentiss is a lioness, Agent Jareau the protective wolf of a pack guarding her pup – I’m talking about Dr. Reid of course, and if Ms. Garcia is the mama bear of the team: utterly charming and sweet, but ferocious when one of her team is hurt, then Agent Morgan is a buffalo. He’s confident, strong and highly protective of the whole team but especially of Ms. Garcia and Dr. Reid. However, he also flinched when I flirted with him, and I think he must’ve gone through quite an ordeal when he was younger, because he didn’t respond well to Maze’ more assertive flirting.”

That was one way of calling it. While her friend took consent very seriously, Mazikeen was dominant around man, almost aggressive.

“My flirting was mild and playful, not very different from what he would indulge in with Ms. Garcia, but his response was skittish nevertheless, which is strange for a ladies man. Something must’ve happened to him. He’s been prey before.” Linda quietly listened to her patient’s musings. Lucifer, for all that he was blind to certain emotions, especially when it came to recognizing them within himself, was remarkable at reading people sometimes. He was lost in thought before continuing, “Now Agent Rossi is more of an old fox: highly intelligent, a little grumpy, a bit of a rogue, but looking out for the young ones, lying in wait patiently. He’s an ancient soul, not only because he is the oldest of the group but because of everything he’s seen so far. Finally, we have Agent Hotchner… How to describe him?” He leaned back and smiled. “He’s a silverback. The uncontested leader of the team: stoic and calm, a gentle soul, fierce only if his family is threatened. There is old pain in him, too, but I’m not sure what it is.”

“So, you’re telling me they’re good people,” concluded Linda gently.

“Yes, absolutely, their light is as bright as the sun especially when they’re together. It’s a joy to watch,” replied her patient sincerely.

“And working with them is going well, I assume?”

“Yes,” smiled Lucifer. “They work together like a well-oiled machine with absolute trust in each other. They know what darkness lies within humanity and yet they still strive for justice and truly believe that humans are generally good and worth their protection. An enviable trait.”

“What do you think they make of you?” asked Linda, both dreading and curious to hear what a group of profilers would think of the literal devil.

“You know, I think they’re on the verge of believing me. At least, the young one is. He saw my library and he quite skillfully inquired after my knowledge and is slowly accepting that I know more than is feasible for a regular human. He’s a genius, so he has a broader frame of reference. Agent Morgan’s soul called out to me earlier when I talked to Lily Jones, and he’s clearly having suspicions. Agents Rossi and Prentiss are believers, raised catholic I believe, and all they need is one final piece of evidence and they won’t doubt anymore. Agent Jareau, Ms. Garcia and Agent Hotchner are harder to predict.”

“Please don’t present them with any more evidence,” begged Linda. Hurt, he caught her gaze. “It’s not about that. This has nothing to do with you being the devil, but, Lucifer, they’ll be leaving after this. Do you really want to them to know this much about you and then return to Quantico?”

“They wouldn’t wish to cause me any harm,” he contradicted with confidence. “They are not the torch-and-pickford kind of crowd. Their pack dynamics are based on rationality, not mob mentality.” The fact he could tell as much told Linda a lot about at least some of his previous visits to Earth.

“Are you sure about that? Because once the truth is out there, you might have to run, and this could have serious repercussions for the people you’ve associated with.” It was not that she did not appreciate Lucifer’s honesty with both her and Delilah, and she would rather know than remain ignorant, but she would lie if she were not a tiny bit worried about the potential consequences of Lucifer revealing his identity to the FBI.

“Dr. Linda, I know you’re scared, but please don’t be. In my many, many years spent on Earth, there have never been any negative consequences for the people whom I counted as friends. I make sure of that.”

“How?” asked the psychiatrist, and in response, Lucifer’s appearance changed, his skin seemed to glow and his hair looked like flames. The etheral, beautiful creature before her spoke with a familiar voice.

“Because after all, burned out or not, I’m the Angel of Light, and as such it is my duty to bless those who associated with the devil in good faith.”

He captured her hand, which had reached out to him instinctively. Embarassed, she pulled back and cleared her throat. Meanwhile, he dispelled the illusion (or discarded yet another true face, Linda could not tell). She took a deep breath before she continued, “Okay, so, maybe they’ll find out. Maybe they won’t, but what about this case? Are you allowed to talk about it?”

“I wouldn’t know,” replied her patient slowly.

“I understand. I won’t ask for any details, but would you tell me how this whole case makes you feel?” she asked.

“Powerless,” answered Lucifer through gritted teeth.

“How?”

“I could find these monsters within seconds… without trouble, really. Their souls are too distinct to hide from me for long, but I can’t go looking for them.”

That genuinely seemed to upset him.

“Why?” asked Linda, unsure as to why this would be a problem.

“Because archangels are not supposed to reside on Earth, Dr. Linda,” replied Lucifer, uncharacteristically serious. “The devil cannot just roam about this planet; it could have disastrous consequences. Sure, I could spread my metaphorical wings and find every dark soul currently in existence including those who haven’t hurt anyone yet, but it would be like a shock to the system every time I do so. My powers are not meant for Earth. It’s either for Hell or the universe… I’m forced to use human methods in order to find them.”

Oh, what a bargain to make.

Linda knew her patient’s heightened sense of right and wrong. Well, he _was_ justice, the one to uphold universal rules. Not being able to bring it about instantly had to upset him.

“How do you handle this dilemma?” she asked, but Lucifer’s expression only revealed genuine confusion.

“There is no dilemma in this case,” he countered. “The Lord of Hell cannot use his powers to look for wayward souls on Earth unless it is willed by Dad who will only ask that of me if it otherwise dooms the planet. Life always wins out over punishment. But you are right. Sometimes, no matter what you do, you lose.”

“Explain.”

“A bus with thirty-two people is about to fall off a cliff. You’re holding a rope that holds the bus in place, but as long as you hold onto it, a murderer can get away and he will destroy the lives of thirty-five people by committing ten murders before he’s caught. What would you do? Let the rope go and catch him, or save the people on the bus?”

“Oh,” breathed Linda. “We’re discussing ethics, aren’t we?”

“Humans call it that. I call it justice. No matter which way I go in that scenario, I will doom lives. And this friction is hard to accept and even harder to bear,” continued Lucifer.

“So, what theory do angels live by? Immanuel Kant’s duty theory? You are so incredibly attached to your duties… Or is it Utilitarianism, and you weigh everything you do?”

The angel looked at her thoughtfully, “Both. Neither. Some angels follow Utilitarianism more, weighing outcomes against each other, and they might be perfectly okay with destroying dozens of lives if that saves a million. ‘For the greater good’ is basically Amenadiel’s motto, even though he would never get his hands dirty in the process,” he sneered. “Some, like Michael, are strict in regards to duty theory, where one must avoid what is wrong and do what is right, but that can bring its own dilemma. You hide people from unjust prosecution, but that could put you into the position of lying to those who’re looking for them. A true follower of duty theory would refuse to lie.”

“You don’t lie.”

“No, I don’t, but I would never betray them. Some of my siblings would.”

“But you can’t, because you are justice and betraying the innocent wouldn’t be just.”

He nodded and curiosity burned within her, “What is your rule, Lucifer?”

“My duty is to uphold the divine rules as per Dad’s decree. Most, I defend gladly, some grudgingly, and a few I wish I didn’t have to.” Sad eyes looked into hers.

“The consequences of suicide.”

“You disrespect life, you disrespect the captial laws,” answered Lucifer. “But punishing those who took the only out they had left because the pain exceeded what they could bear… that isn’t just.” His dark-brown eyes almost appeared black in the dimly lit penthouse, so much so, that their dark-red gleam frightened a primal part of her, but she was not afraid, not really. She knew his anger was not aimed at her. “Lily Jones was close enough to the brink that I could call her back as the former Lord of Hell. I was able to tell her that I don’t want her, but do you have any idea how many souls come to my domain for no other crime than taking their own life? Sure, most’ve sinned, but not enough to warrant eternal punishment in Hell. I-“ He stopped abruptly. She knew him well enough to know that he was shutting down. As he always did when this topic came up, even when he approached it himself. She should have switched gears earlier. “I think I would like to go to the club now. I’ve been neglecting my patrons.”

“Lucifer-“ she began, but his head had already left the session. He rose from his seat and physically retreated a few steps, eager to flee.

“You know, Pedro’s been asking for you. And I would very much encourage you to go and see him. Or Maze. She’s currently on the outskirts of the club, but she’ll gladly come in if it gives her the opportunity to spend time with you.” He grinned suggestively. “Please remember not to go home alone,” he added offhandedly as if it was an afterthought, even though she knew how important her safety was to him.

“Lucifer-“ she tried to get a word in, but it was futile.

“Thank you for your support, doctor. Great talk, let’s do this again soon,” and before she could say anything, he stepped into the elevator and left her alone in the penthouse.

She leaned back into the chair and sighed.

“I don’t care how devilishly handsome you are,” Linda muttered. “I’m charging for the full hour.”

She could swear she heard him laugh in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up:  
> JJ and Reid pick up Mr. Morningstar from his penthouse, and they make quite a bit of progress regarding their case. They are none the wiser about the club owner, though.


	7. Within the Devil’s Range

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JJ and Reid pick up Mr. Morningstar from the penthouse, get a little more insight into his world, and are then called to a crime scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many, many thanks to SilverWolf7 whose comments and messages are absolute gold for this story. It's so nice to talk both CM and Lucifer with someone!  
> I enjoy every minute of it.
> 
> Thank all of you for the kind comments. As you can see, I have finally made the decision regarding story-length (14 chapter) and my schedule has stretched to 1.5 weeks, because this summer was extraordinarily busy at work.

JJ always dreaded that first glance at her phone in the morning. She loved her job, no matter how hard it was sometimes, but this first glance at the phone in the morning was always hard, especially while on a case as gruesome as this one.

Thankfully, it was just a message from Hotch telling her that, so far, there were no new missing person’s reports despite alerting the public and that no body had been found, so that was a relief. She went to the bathroom, showered and went through her quick morning routine so that she looked like a professional and not like something the cat dragged in. After that first, essential cup of coffee, she finally felt human again, and was prepared to face the day.

As if on cue, her phone rang.

“Good morning, Hotch,” she smiled into the phone, as always impressed just how well he knew her morning habits. He hardly ever called before she was ready. “I’m on my way to the lobby.”

“Good, see you in a minute,” said Hotch and hung up the phone as he usually did.

Morgan, Penelope, Reid and Hotch were already present; Emily and Rossi were probably on their way.

“JJ, why don’t you pick up Mr. Morningstar from his home? Take someone with you,” he added.

“You don’t think he’s dangerous, do you, Hotch?” asked JJ incredulously. As much of a mystery as the club owner was, he did not strike her as a threat by any means, although she had definitely noticed his threatening aura when they successfully prevented Lily Jones from jumping.

“Oh, I believe he’s highly dangerous and given what we’ve seen from his associate Mazikeen Smith, and her allusion to only losing to angelic opponents, he could probably take half of the team without greater trouble. That being said, I don’t believe he’s a threat. Personally, I believe we amuse him and he’s quite fond of us. The reason I want you to take someone with you has nothing to do with that.”

“Is it because of the case?” she asked.

“Partly, yes, but also because I have the distinct feeling that Mr. Morningstar is a master at distraction, not purposefully for the most part, though he can use it deliberately, but simply because he himself is easily distracted and I believe that two people may have an easier time to keep him on track. Do you disagree with that assessment?”

They shook their heads. That sounded like Mr. Morningstar.

“I’ll go with you,” offered their resident genius with a smile.

“Wait, no!” protested Garcia, “I’m calling dibs.”

“Then you should have been faster, baby girl,” grinned Morgan.

“Unfair!” muttered their tech marvel, causing her friend to kiss the top of her head.

“The Kid one-upped you there, Goddess,” laughed the profiler.

“You don’t want to go?” asked Hotch curiously.

“Do I want to figure him out? Of course I do, Hotch, but I also agree with you; he’s not dangerous to us. And while I wouldn’t mind hanging out at his club and exploring his frankly fascinating penthouse, I’m totally okay interacting with him at work only.”

“Morgan’s afraid he might flirt with him again,” grinned Reid. His teasing reminded JJ that, apart from Hotch and Gideon, she was the only one who knew for sure about Morgan’s gruesome past with Buford. She still did not entirely understand how this was possible, how Gideon had managed to keep Garcia and Reid, the two smartest people she knew, as well as Emily, one of the most observant profilers she had ever worked with, from finding out what actually happened to Morgan when he was a boy. That case in Chicago was still fresh on her mind, even over a year after the fact, but Gideon and Hotch had successfully kept this part of Morgan’s past from the rest of the team, which believed that Buford was nothing but a murderer who tried to pin it on his former charge and not Morgan’s personal nightmare. Today, however, the consequence of that showed as Reid, Garcia and Emily started teasing their colleague.

“Probably,” continued Emily with a grin. “Morningstar is a handful.”

Skillfully, Morgan deflected their jokes by saying, “I like the guy well enough, doesn’t mean I want him in my bed.”

Before the ‘ _Morgan’s afraid of some man lovin’'_  teasing could continue, Hotch sent both Reid and JJ on their way. Once in the car, the genius voiced his thoughts.

“You know, at first I thought it was some growing-up-in-Chicago’s-inner-city-with-a-family-consisting-of-only-females-like machoism that has Morgan react so strangely sometimes, but in all my time I’ve known him, he’s not homophobic. He faces quite a number of male admirers in clubs, but he rebuffs them in a similar manner to how he rejects women: firmly but gently and sweetly. He makes all of them feel good about themselves, somehow both conveying his lack of interest but also that he’s quite flattered. It’s just strange for a typical alpha male to be so apprehensive of Mr. Morningstar who may be able to project some authority but is essentially not a dominant character. Why do you think that is?” he addressed her, happily sitting in the passenger seat.

“Well, I’m quite certain that Morgan isn’t used to being flirted with by someone he couldn’t at least theoretically take in a fight,” suggested JJ carefully.

“But Mr. Morningstar isn’t violent by nature,” protested her friend. “He would never hurt us.”

“I agree. I’m just saying that he could take us.” Phantom pain in her hip reminded her of being thrown around like a ragdoll by Morningstar’s close associate. Mazikeen Smith was unbelievably strong, and her style was vicious and swift. It was difficult to imagine, but according to her, Mr. Morningstar was better.

“How does that make any difference?” asked Reid, confused, God bless his innocent soul. “That doesn’t make Mr. Morningstar in any way more inclined to hurt him. Following that logic, a lot of women would never have any sexual intercourse because men are physically stronger than women.”

The part of her that knew and felt so, so much for little Morgan, all hurt and alone, cried out over what JJ said next with a brittle grin, “That just tells you how much braver we are.”

Reid just nodded, silently agreeing with her statement, and JJ so wanted to tell him that Morgan was very brave, but the experienced profiler would not appreciate her telling his quasi-adopted baby brother of the ordeal he had gone through. She was quite sure that Emily suspected, but Reid had obviously never quite realized what happened, probably because he had spent most of his time with Morgan’s family, which had been none the wiser about Morgan’s past with Buford.

“I’ll never understand alpha males,” commented Reid. “I mean, theoretically, I do, I’ve read enough about them, but their actions are often times quite irrational and instinct-driven, which I cannot really relate to.”

JJ laughed at that. Yes, ‘Spencer Reid – the alpha male’ had a rather strange ring to it.

“I’m glad you cannot, Spence,” was all she said in response.

Not too soon after, they arrived, and someone from the club’s security parked the car for them after they showed their credentials. Thankfully, Reid did not have to show his ID today, because apparently his name was registered as “ _Baby, but over 21_ ” in the man’s list, as Reid indignantly relayed to her once they were in the elevator. Additionally, he was able to read the note “ _Fed; free access to penthouse._ ” He was elated to have noticed the “ _even if boss absent_ ” scribbled right next to that note, obviously updated at another time because it was written by another person, though how Reid could have read and analyzed all of that even though he had only gotten one brief, upside-down glimpse at the writing would forever baffle her.

The dinging of the elevator interrupted Reid’s enthusiastic admittance that he had to carve out some time before they returned to Quantico to read through that library. JJ was not quite sure what she expected. While a member of his staff had told them that ‘ _the boss is having guests over at the penthouse_ ’ she was unsure whether to expect an ongoing orgy or some people gathering their things to sneak out of the penthouse or… She honestly had to admit to being out of her depth. Garcia had told them of about reputation as well as his extensive porn collection, which was apparently as inventive and high-quality as it got, though he had some really cheesy and slippery ones, too. They knew that the man was famous for his elaborate sex parties, and that was not her world. She was fairly conservative in that regard: one person at a time, three partners in total (high school sweetheart, college, now Will and he was… their relationship was still fairly young, but she had to admit to being heads over heels for that man who supported her career so faithfully), and much less inclined to sexual adventures than for example Morgan or Emily who both enjoyed sex in a way she did not understand. However, working with these amazing people, some of the best people one could find, had opened her mind to the point that she would not even blink if Morningstar paraded around naked (though part of her might have a heart attack, because even she had to admit that the guy was absolutely gorgeous).

A part of her was almost disappointed to see the man dressed in a bathrobe sitting on a couch right by the window that gave the most brilliant view onto the city. His guests were a man and three women one of whom was dressed in a flight attendant uniform. And while that sounded like the plot of a porn video, she was dressed too professionally for it to be fake. JJ faintly heard a shower running, which told her that there was at least one more person in the room. What surprised her was how silent the party was, but their hands moved very quickly, and it took her a moment to realize that they were communicating via Sign Language, though she did not recognize it to be ASL. Morningstar who had been speaking in a low voice, his fingers effortlessly forming the words, turned and his entire face spoke of pure delight at seeing them.

“Agent Jareau, Dr. Reid, come in, come in,” he smiled broadly, rising from his seat. He continued to sign, but even with a clear view, JJ was unable to identify the language as ASL, though some signs were vaguely familiar, especially when he spelled out their names. “A good morning to you! These are Jana, Lynette, Margot and Jule. Everyone, meet Special Agent Jareau and Dr. Reid, FBI. Have you already had breakfast?” He asked, continuing to sign. Lynette’s hand grasped his hand though, and he stopped.

Her English was not very good and some of her words were enunciated a bit strangely, but JJ remembered Bobby Travers, a kid from tenth grade who had been hard of hearing and had spoken in a similar manner.

“Thank you, Lucifer. For everything. We have to go now, though.” She signed fluently as she spoke. Given her French accent, she might be using French Sign Language, from which ASL originally derived. Then she switched to ASL addressing the woman named Jana, her movements less sure but still more fluent than what JJ would be capable of, “Thank you, Jana. If you ever fly to France, this is where you can find us.” She handed over what looked like a business card and did the same thing for Lucifer who took it and signed something with one hand. The man, Jule, kissed Jana’s hand and then gently kissed Mr. Morningstar who responded gleefully and returned the kiss just as softly as his lover. Next was the woman named Margot, who was quite short with brown hair. She also rose from her seat, and Mr. Morningstar in turn sat down on the armrest of the sofa, so that she could easily grab the back of his head and kiss him quite forcefully. He relaxed and accepted her assertive advances with as much enthusiasm as he had returned Jule’s softer kiss. Finally, Lynette also gave her goodbyes to Mr. Morningstar, who was more dominant this time, and the French lady seemed to be having a fantastic time, grasping his shoulders.

If this whole _range_ of behavior gave her whiplash, she had not idea what went through Reid’s head. She could not pin down Mr. Morningstar’s behavior. He obviously enjoyed all three positions, so there was no way of pinning down his sexual behavior. Reid had said he did not have a dominant personality, but Lynette apparently wanted an assertive partner, which he willingly gave. They ended their passionate kiss with three kisses on the cheek and a few silent words exchanged via FSL.

They waved their goodbyes to Reid and JJ and left, communicating silently as they left; it was apparent that they just had the time of their lives. The club owner grinned widely, before he gave his attention to Jana.

“I didn’t know you had a deaf baby brother,” said the man. “Your ASL is outstanding.”

“It’s not like we do a lot of pillow talk, Lucifer,” smiled the flight attendant ruefully. “I’m actually kind of glad that we had them over tonight. Gave me some perspective.”

“Nothing morose, I hope,” replied the club owner, seemingly worried.

“No, not at all,” laughed the woman. “I just realized that I’ve been using you, is all.”

“I would call that morose, Jana, and quite a false assumption, too,” answered Mr. Morningstar with a frown. “Being with you is a privilege, not a task or a way to boost my ego. Your desires are what matter.”

“Yeah,” muttered the lady. Mr. Morningstar’s expression was quite serious and he approached her, automatically taking the hand she was offering. “Hi, Mr. Morningstar, nice to meet you. My name’s Jana Lawrence. I was born in Fremont, California. I have a baby brother, Robert, who’s deaf, and he’s a brilliant kid. He turned sixteen last month. My mother is from Seoul, my Daddy’s Mexican. Not wanting to drain my parent’s meager finances, I decided against going to college and became a flight attendant. I’m good at it. I like doing it. And it allows me to visit my family often. I mostly do domestic flights to and from SFO or Oakland Airport, but occasionally I’m in LA, which is the only place where I can forget about being the dutiful daughter and let loose.”

“That’s alright. We all need a vacation from our duties sometimes,” replied Mr. Morningstar gently, but looking about as confused as Reid when it came to emotional moments. His hands were hovering after she let go off his hand, but he did not touch her.

“Doesn’t give me the right to be a selfish bitch, though,” she retorted sharply.

“Selfish? No, no, no, Jana, you’re not selfish. Living out our desires may seem or even be selfish at times, but you’re not a selfish lover, not even close. You’re a giver, not a taker.”

“Oh,” she exclaimed, her facial expression softening, and put her right hand on his cheek. “You’re a sweet guy.”

That made him laugh with genuine mirth, “Not even close, darling.” He took a swig of what seemed to be some sort of liquor, “Just ask Maze. She will happily tell you just how much of an arse I can be.”

“Nobody can deny the fact you’re generous, Lucifer,” said an unknown voice from his bedroom. Reid and JJ turned toward its source to see another female, a cute woman in her late twenties who was wearing the same uniform as Jana, step down the three steps from the bedroom into the living room, looking as bouncy, relaxed and happy as the others. “Jana, we’ll be late if we don’t leave soon.”

“Okay,” said the other woman. She put her hand on Mr. Morningstar’s chest and patted it gently. He grasped her hand in response.

“Jana,” said the club owner, a bit subdued, “Feel free to live out your wild side in my home whenever you want to. I very much enjoy that side of yours.” He grinned devilishly.

She chuckled, “Me too. Laura, let’s go.” With that, she grabbed her bag.

“One moment, please. Ms. Adams, I hope you had a good night as well,” said Mr. Morningstar.

“Are you kidding me? You gave me full access to your amazing library and everything you have on physics and mathematics including what I could swear is an authentic diary written by Albert Einstein.” JJ had to suppress a grin when Reid’s expression changed from being lost in his own head to absolute and full attention. “Then you gave me a thirty minutes lecture, no, chit-chat – that’s what you called it, not me – on gravity and why Einstein’s relativity theory may not give the whole picture but holds up in the face of strong gravity like a black hole. You even showed me the math on that. You gave me the night of my life,” she grinned. “Thank you.”

Morningstar helplessly threw up his hands, utterly lost, “Sure, if you think so. It’s what you desired, I guess, though it makes no…” Confusion slipped into a dangerous gleam. His grin was wide and mischievous. “Ms. Adams, have I introduced you to Agent Jareau and Dr. Reid yet? She’s a fantastic FBI liaison and even more impressive as a field agent. And this is Dr. Spencer Reid; he has multiple doctorates and has a particular affinity for mathematics, statistics and physics. Dr. Reid, this is Laura Adams, a graduate student at Georgetown University doing the Standard Physics Track, but she decided to take off a semester to ‘see the world and making some money in the process’ and thus decided to become a flight attendant.”

“Nice to meet you,” smiled Ms. Adams and waved awkwardly, which Reid happily returned. It was kind of cute, this encounter of two socially awkward but unquestionably sweet human beings.

“Likewise.”

“Laura, as you said, we’re late,” said Jana, but her eyes gleamed with amusement and she subtly signed to Lucifer, _‘He’s adorable. Is there any way for Laura to get his number?’_ Meanwhile, she pulled Laura to the elevator door.

“Young one,” Mr. Morningstar addressed Reid, not at all casually. “Your phone number. It’s-“ and he proceeded to spell out Spence’s cell phone number. “Correct?”

“Yes, why?” asked Reid, oblivious to the whole display. Frustratingly, Ms. Adams just looked from the library to Reid, the entire moment lost on her. JJ rolled her eyes, which earned her a grin from Jana who tapped her head indicating that she had the number memorized. Then she signed, ‘ _I’ll tell her.’_

A wave and the doors closed.

Mr. Morningstar sighed, “Dr. Reid, there’s a cute, smart girl that is into you and you don’t even know. Not that she’s any better. Thankfully, she found a friend in Jana.”

“Mr. Morningstar-“ JJ began, but he interruped, “Lucifer, please, Agent Jareau.”

“Lucifer,” she continued, “Agent Hotchner asked us to pick you up.”

His face instantly grew serious, “Has anyone been abducted last night?”

“Not as far as we know, but usually, these reports come in by mid-morning.”

“I’ll get ready. Give me a moment. Please, feel free and eat some of the food.”

With that, he was out of sight. Reid walked over to the plates and picked up some of the fruit that was on the table. The breakfast looked divine, and she took some of the untouched toast.

After cleaning his hands, the genius walked over to the library where a few books sat on a table. He took a leatherbound notebook, opened it, and let go off it quickly as if it tried to bite him.

“Spence?” she asked.

He looked up and stared at her, “Ms. Adams was right. This is Albert Einstein’s handwriting, but this isn’t a freely available notebook. How in God’s name-?”

“Nothing to do with his name in any way, shape or form. Albert was an atheist, or as close to it as you were allowed to be back in the days,” sounded Mr.-Lucifer’s voice from around the corner. “A brilliant mind, and very human in everything else. In today’s world, he probably could have foregone marriage. He would’ve, I’m sure. He never wanted to be a father. He loved them, but- anyway, these are his professional notebooks. I have most of them.”

As he spoke, he stepped around the corner, adjusting his suit as he walked.

“Let’s go. Dr. Reid, take one of them with you, I can see you want to.”

“I can’t,” whispered Reid. “If anything happens to them, I couldn’t forgive myself.”

“Alright,” accepted Mr.-Lucifer instantly.

They had not reached the car by the time Morgan called to let them know that three women went missing last night, an unprecedented escalation. They were all abducted outside of the parameter they set around Lux indicating a wider comfort zone than originally anticipated and that the connection to Lux was more incidental.

All the lightheartedness disappeared instantly.

In the car, Morningstar asked if there had been a away to avoid this escalation, all but asking whether this was his fault and JJ wished they were already back at the precinct. Nobody could put someone at ease and alleviate them off their guilt as Hotch could, though Morgan, Emily and Rossi were all excellent at it. And so, it turned out, was Spence.

“Offenders like that would have escalated regardless, Mr… Lucifer,” he corrected himself, obviously remembering the man’s earlier offer. “I’m just glad that LAPD’s presence was tight enough to protect the surroundings of your club.”

“That’s just the thing,” mused Lucifer. He did not seem particularly upset. In fact, he was very calm, but there was anger smoldering beneath the quiet surface. “If I had closed the doors last night, most nightclubs would have followed suit.”

“Most, but not all, and we would have derailed their usual hunting ground,” countered Reid calmly. “It was a Saturday night. People would have wanted to party regardless of the danger.”

“And I would never stand in the way of free will,” replied the club owner, resigned.

“Unless they commit a sin,” suggested Reid, obviously intent on getting more insight into the man’s complex mind.

“Not even then. The devil is not interested in most sins or souls. You can steal if you’re starving. You can cheat on your spouse, I don’t care, but if you hurt out of greed, if your decision comprimises another person’s free will, that’s when I may interfere. I punish evil. I do not punish you for being human. Amoral behavior may tip the scale toward Hell. Morality changes like the wind after all. What was once considered sinful is now considered perfectly fine. I don’t care about morality. What is right and wrong hasn’t changed over the years, humans are just amazingly good at justifying wrongs and vilifying what is right.”

“Like slavery?” suggested Reid calmly.

“Precisely,” smiled Lucifer darkly. “Now how that persisted for so long, I’ll never understand. Never. Dad vetoed a few souls that I believe should’ve been punished. He hardly ever buds in, but for one who has zero tolerance for a number of, what I believe are arbitrary sins, he can be remarkably lenient for certain crimes especially if committed by those in his favor. On the other hand, if you fall out of favor, well… you Fall.”

Before Reid could continue the conversation, her phone rang and she picked it up.

“Yes, Hotch?”

“One of the women escaped,” replied her boss.

That was unexpected. “Was she let go deliberately or was it a mistake on their part?”

“We’re still trying to figure that out. You are closest to the house from which she escaped, but I want you to wait before going in, because there is no experienced field agent with you. Morgan and Prentiss are on the way.”

“We’ll wait.”

“Good,” said Hotch and rattled down the address. “I’ll see you soon. Take care. These men are very dangerous.”

She hung up, and while Reid looked at her expectantly, Lucifer repeated the address without trouble, but admitted to not knowing the general area as he never spent time there. The man truly had excellent hearing. Thankfully, their personal GPS, Spence, effortlessly told her where to drive.

“That mind of yours is a beautiful thing, young one,” smiled the club owner, obviously charmed. “Does Agent Hotchner expect the culprits to remain?”

“No, he doesn’t,” replied JJ calmly, knowing her Unit Chief well enough to be certain that he would have never sent them there without a SWAT team for support, otherwise. “However, packs are notoriously difficult to predict, and the last thing he wants is something happening to us.”

With a shudder, she thought of that ill-fated decision to split up on Tobias Henkel’s farm. Despite therapy, she still struggled with the memory of these dogs and the remains of the woman they had torn apart. The only emotion stronger than fear was guilt over not being there for Reid, and for everything that happened to him.

She was relieved to see that Morgan and Emily had just arrived as well.

“Good morning, agents,” smiled Lucifer before the two human beanstalks, namely the club owner and their resident genius, unfolded their far too long legs out of the car. It was needless to say that the club owner managed to do so quite elegantly. He then strolled over to Morgan and Emily. He was smiling, but was much more subdued compared to the day before, careful not to approach Morgan in a manner that could be interpreted as inappropriate. He was much more flirtatious with Emily. “You look splendid this morning, Agent Prentiss.”

“Let’s focus,” was all her colleague said, but she was smiling. Despite the fact that Emily typically despised ‘players’ and the way they treated women, she had obviously and correctly decided that, just like Morgan, Lucifer was not a misogynist and therefore took his mannerisms with stride, humor and a healthy dose of ‘playful rebuttal’ that was not aimed to stop or change the club owner’s behavior. His grin grew wider, realizing the honor she had just bestowed him with.

“Do I get a gun?”

Unsurprisingly, a resounding ‘no’ was the answer.

“Why not? I formed the stars. How hard can it be to handle a gun?”

With mild horror, Morgan stared at him, “Remind me never to let you near a gun.”

“Gladly, Agent Morgan,” he smiled.

Morgan just shook his head and took charge.

“Alright, Reid, you’re with Emily; you two take the back. JJ, Morningstar, you’re with me. I don’t expect anyone to be here, but be careful,” said he, and they all followed his orders instantly. Well, almost instantly; Lucifer purred something along the lines of ‘oh, Agent Morgan, so bossy. It tantalizing.’ That comment, in turn, led to an amused scoff on Morgan’s part.

Nevertheless, Lucifer too followed them, though the whole ‘take cover’ concept was kind of lost on him, but thankfully, Morgan was a certified instructor and he had helped putting Reid through the mandatory physical. Unsurprisingly, a few choice words regarding positioning did the trick. Lucifer still looked very confused about the entire concept, however, which kind of dispelled her theory that the man was formally trained (either military or governmental agency). He was right behind her when Morgan knocked with a sharp, “FBI! If anyone is in here, make yourself known! We have a search warrant and we will use force to enter the builiding if necessary.”

There was no response and after a second warning, Morgan alerted Emily and Reid via radio that they would go in. Hotch had obviously gone through some very quick channels to get a search warrant within minutes, but then this case had made nation-wide news and had been a part of the California state media circus fo weeks. Judges were very willing to help. The door opened with a bang as Morgan destroyed yet another lock.

An all too familiar growl made her flinch and whirl around. A Belgian Sheperd and a Rottweiler stood in the doorway to what could be a kitchen. They snarled, bared their teeth and were on the verge of attack. The Rottweiler charged quickly, but before Morgan or JJ could do anything, Lucifer stepped between guns and dogs and commanded in a low voice, “Down, pups!”

To her infinite surprise, the two dogs immediately obeyed, stopped growling and lay down on the floor; the Sheperd’s head was lowered too, whimpering, while the Rottweiler was panting happily.

After a moment’s hesitation, Morgan ordered JJ to help him clear the building while asking Lucifer to stay with the dogs.

Once they cleared the rooms (nobody in the building except for these two dogs), Emily asked whether they were okay.

“All’s fine, but let’s check on Morningstar,” said Morgan, “the dogs responded to him, but he’s unarmed.”

“I’m fine, Agent Morgan,” responded the club owner from the other room, “and please, everyone: it’s Lucifer. Morningstar is-“ he hesitated.

“Your father?” completed Emily, varily eyeing the two dogs who had their eyes trained on the club owner.

“No,” laughed Lucifer. “I was asked for a surname, but there was no chance in hell I would go by ‘–el’ of any kind. Belial, Abaddon and Prince of Darkness were all rejected as surnames so I used an old title, but my name is Lucifer and I prefer to be referred to as such.”

“Understandable,” commented Reid. “What about the dogs?”

“They’re fine,” replied the club owner absently. “There is nothing in this kitchen. Dog food, yes, cheapest brand you can find, but nothing else.” He was standing in the kitchen and – to her horror – was opening up cupboards, probably looking for something to drink given that there was a liquor glass on the counter.

“Evidence!” shouted Morgan, which caused the two dogs to jump into action.

“ _Down_ ,” growled Lucifer and, just like before, they lay down meekly. “I don’t understand,” he addressed Morgan. “Nobody is here. Nobody has been here for two hours. They don’t live here, obviously, and the women were kept in the cellar. What does the kitchen have to do with it?”

There was so much to unpack that they were all stunned for a moment. Emily was the first to start speaking, “You always have to consider that, whenever we go to a potential crime scene, anything is potential evidence. Without the evidence, the criminals might get away scot-free. Not only that, any mistake on our part means that they can get away with what they did on nothing more than a technicality. It’s the most frustrating part of our job. So, make sure to wear gloves, and in general, try to wait until the forensics team arrives.”

JJ, who believed that Lucifer might respond to a personal connection, added, “Ella and her team will thank you for it. It’s such a hassle trying to make sense of tampered crime scenes.”

That made him nod.

“Thankfully,” chimed in Reid, “we usually arrive at crime scenes after they were processed, so you’ll be able to check it out at your heart’s desire.” Lucifer’s immediate response was a smile, which was either because of his choice of words, the fact that Spence was the one who said it, or because of the actual statement.

“Okay, so now that we’re clear about this, you said something about a cellar. We found no cellar.”

The club owner looked from Morgan to the dogs and prompted, “Go on, show them. They’re good people. Listen to them.”

By some miracle, the dogs jumped up, and with wagging tails, trailed ahead. It was a one-story building, and there was no obvious door that led to a cellar that they could find. The Belgian Sheperd sat down in front of a carpet.

Morgan unholstered his gun and everyone else followed suit. He pulled away the carpet, revealing the trapdoor beneath it.

“There is nobody down there, Agent Morgan,” said Lucifer, but the head of this mission lifted his hand with a nod, obviously accepting his statement as truth, but still insistent on following procedure.

The smell that hit them was overwhelming. It was obvious that the UnSubs had kept a number of people in this place for more than a day with little to no opportunity for hygiene. There was nobody there, but there was a cell and there was blood.

“Alright, let’s call in forensics and seal this place,” said Morgan. The only one who did not move was Lucifer whose eyes, through a trick of the light, appeared to flash red in the dark. Morgan stood right in front of him and put a companionable hand on the club owner’s shoulder. “Come on,” said he gently. “As Emily said earlier, there’s nothing we can do now. Once everything is processed, it’s our turn. We’ll get these sons of bitches. As soon as we figured out what makes them tick, they won’t be able to hide anymore.”

After a moment of silence, Lucifer complied. The dogs both hesitantly walked over him, their heads lowered, causing him to sigh, “Look, pups. I get it. You were just being loyal; I commend you, truly, but you cannot hurt people. It’s wrong. I’ll make sure Smells-like-Him and Foul-Male will never see you again.”

There was some magic going on that she did not understand because she could swear that the dogs understood every word Lucifer said.

“Smells-like-Him and Foul-Male?” repeated Morgan disbelievingly.

“Don’t ask me what it means. They’re dogs. They ‘see’ the world through their nose. And because they’re dogs they didn’t realize that frightening you is wrong. They only did what Smells-like-Him told them to do, because ‘He’/’Him’ – whoever that is – used to be the pack leader and they have to follow the packleader.”

Silence followed that peculiar explanation, and it was Emily who asked, “Then why are they obeying you?”

“Because I am Smells-like-Sun, and any packleader would submit to Smells-like-Sun. To this day, I haven’t found out whether they think I smell like barbecue since burning out or because I used to be the Lightbringer. Kerb was never very forthcoming about that. Doesn’t really matter because they also recognize me by my other name, Sounds-like-Stars, and that name I’ve held for much longer. Only dogs call me Smells-like-Sun, but every other canine calls me Sounds-like-Stars.”

JJ could not help but stare. That was the last thing she had expected to hear from the well-dressed, obviously-made-for-the-city, high-end club owner; this kind of spirituality came out of left field. Sure, he believed profoundly, but his faith was based on monotheistic cultures like Christianity and Judaism, though he appeared to give the Old Testament much more attention and _his_ devil had little in common with the source of all evil described in the Catholic Church. His belief system was beyond anything she had ever heard of. He sounded very matter-of-fact, almost dismissive, and she had no idea what to think. The dogs surely had not told him anything - he was no Dr. Dolittle - but he had the observational skills that allowed him to track down a trapdoor that was lost on them. Sure, he had spent some time alone, but how he could have explored enough to know where the trapdoor actually was, was beyond her.

All of her colleagues seemed to be struggling with the basic concepts of the current conversation as well.

It was Reid who could not help but challenge, “So, when you say you speak all languages, you speak _all_ languages.”

“Yes,” replied Lucifer, sounding a bit tired. “I do. I told you, I was there when langauges formed, and this includes its most primitive forms, though canine communication is quite complex given their rigid social structure.”

Morgan put the phone to his ear and called Hotch, let him know what they found. (“We’re missing something, Hotch. Has Garcia already found out who this house is registered to? Can you let LAPD forensics know that there is a scene to process? Me and Emily were the only ones to touch open doors, so apart from our footprints, the crime scene wasn’t messed up too badly, except for the kitchen, because we had a run-in with two aggressive dogs… We’re fine. I’ll tell you about it later. Anyway, Morningstar was looking for dog food, because they were clearly neglected…. He’s been updated on police procedure, but I’ll take full responsibility if we run into legal problems. He found us a trapdoor where they might have kept her. Hotch, they’re keeping their victims for longer than expected. We must rethink our profile.” Hotch, who always stood behind his team, predictably told him that he was confident that Morgan had done the right thing.)

However, he did not mention the chatty dogs, or how exactly Morningstar had found a trapdoor, because conversations like that were probably best saved for face-to-face conversations.

They waited for the forensics team to arrive, which earned JJ an enthusiastic hug from Ella. As they began processing the scene, Morgan ordered the BAU back to the precinct. This time, Emily drove with her and Reid, while Morgan drove with Lucifer, the two dogs in the back of the car.

“Okay, what’d I miss?” asked Emily, as soon as the car doors were shut.

“You were there for the strangest parts, really,” said JJ. “We picked him up this morning, he invited us for breakfast with his overnight guests-“

“It turns out he has some of Albert Einstein’s personal notebooks,” chimed in Spence, obviously thinking that this piece of information was vital.

“-We came here, and split up according to Morgan’s orders. The dogs jumped us, but before we could do anything, Lucifer stepped between us, told them to stay down, and they just obeyed instantly. I’ve never seen anything like it, at least not from anyone but their immediate handler. How did he know about the trapdoor? Reid, what are we missing here?”

“I don’t know,” admitted their genius. “I honestly don’t understand what makes him tick. He’s beyond insightful, and while he can project authority, and I don’t doubt that dogs would pick up on that, he still couldn’t have known about the trapdoor.”

“Unless,” interjected Emily, “he’s part of it, but he doesn’t fit the profile, and he obviously has an alibi or two for last night.”

“More like five alibis plus Dr. Martin,” countered Reid. “What do we do?”

“Look,” said Emily after a moment. “Let’s forget about Morningstar and that inexplicable stunt he pulled today and instead focus on the case. What information did we gather?”

“One of the UnSubs must own this house,” chimed in Reid. He already dialed Garcia’s number.

“Hit me, Boy Genius,” Garcia’s cheerful voice sounded through the speaker.

“Have you found out who the house belongs to?”

“It’s filed under an alias. There’s no papertrail, nothing. All I know is that a Peter Parkinson finalized his purchase of the house only last year, after incremental cash deposits of around two thousand dollars per month over the course of ten years. The house isn’t big and is located in a run-down neighborhood, which explains the final price of $250,000. Turns out that Peter Parkinson isn’t his real name, what a shocker, and since it was paid in cash, nobody asked too many questions. Nobody else wanted that house, and the real estate manager, Tamara Carlyle, was just glad to get rid of it.”

“Okay, so the dominants would never make such a purchase,” chimed in Reid. “That’s far too risky for their lifestyle, but they must have provided the money. And one house won’t be enough for them. They’re a team, but each pair must have their own place. Now, the question is: Which part of the team owned this house, and where did they take the other two women?”

“Good job,” said Hotch who had been listening to the conversation, probably standing by Garcia’s phone. “We’ll further discuss this once you get back. Time is of the essence here. If they feel threatened, they might kill the two abducted women.”

“ETA ten minutes,” replied JJ automatically pulling into the main street.

“Good, and, while this case has absolute priority, I want you to assess Mr. Morningstar. I’m fully aware that this is a long shot and that there are a lot of open questions, but I’m considering calling Strauss about hiring him. Reid’s initial assessment alone make him eligible, but I want you to take in his behavior and let me know if hiring him is even an option. By the end of this case, I would like to hear your opinions. A single veto from any of you is enough and I won’t make him an offer.”

“What makes you think he’s even interested?” frowned Emily. “He’s rich, I think he enjoys his life quite a bit. Why would he even consider joining us?”

“Because,” replied Hotch, as severe as ever, “justice is what defines him. He’s not part of law enforcement or the judicial branch, but his sense of right and wrong is absolute. His behavior actually reminds me of that of a vigilante, but becoming a vigilante would go against his inherent code that it’s impossible to right a wrong by committing another wrong. He might not be interested; he might not wish to leave LA, but it feels right to at least suggest it. Let me know what you think, but consider your answers carefully. Every single one counts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One quick note:  
> As unlikely as it seems, it almost looks like Reid and Garcia don't really know the details of what happened to Morgan with Buford. In that episode in Season 8, where Buford returns, Morgan tells a few details and Reid definitely looks sympathetic, but also like he had not known for sure. In Season 7, it's clear, however, that JJ knows. So, I headcanon that Gideon, Hotch and JJ knew, Emily suspected (she comes pretty damn close to figuring it out in the episode), and that both Reid and Garcia were never told about the details (Reid was with the Morgan family who didn't know either and Garcia was at her computer. Probably hubris, but that's the headcanon I'm going with in this story.
> 
> Second note:  
> The beginning is a bit of an homage to Jana, the flight attendant from "Stewardess Interruptus", because she deserves a backstory and more respect since the only one who gave her any in that episode, was Lucifer.
> 
> References:  
> https://www.k-international.com/blog/different-types-of-sign-language-around-the-world/ (sign languages)  
> https://interestingengineering.com/einsteins-theory-of-general-relativity-holds-up-for-now  
> https://physics.georgetown.edu/graduate/doctoral-program/typical-course-study/  
> https://hpd.de/node/4584  
> https://www.biography.com/news/einstein-love-life-wives-affairs-letters


	8. Pack Dynamics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer needs to mediate between two dogs and members of the BAU and the LAPD, while observing profiling at its finest. They have an important break on the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the choice between replying to all of your wonderful comments OR providing you with an early chapter. I hope you'll forgive me for not replying to all of you yet. I promise, I will.

Lucifer should be enjoying his time alone with Agent Morgan, accompanied only by two pups that were quite excited to be in a car. However, the FBI agent was not too happy about the situation. He did not say anything, but there was tension around his shoulders, and he was clenching his jaw.

“Agent Morgan, I can always call a member of my staff to pick me up-” he suggested.

“That’s not necessary,” replied the man abruptly, a bit sharper than intended, Lucifer thought, because his lips thinned immediately after uttering the words, which – according to Dr. Linda – was a sign of discomfort.

“I can hardly be the first man to flirt with you, Agent Morgan,” began Lucifer, confused. “You are sex on legs after all, regardless of gender preferences.”

He was teasing, but a part of him was also serious. A man with that kind of Light drew people to him, because he was _safe_.

“Look,” Agent Morgan sighed. “I have nothing against you or against men who are in love with other men. That being said, I wasn’t sure at the time whether you would accept my rejection.”

“Darling, all you need to say is ‘no’ and I will stop.”

And that got a response, but not the response Lucifer had hoped for.

Again that slight flinch, and the FBI agent’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.

Lucifer did not need Cleo to tell him that Safe-Male-Packleader-of-Lab was afraid.

“Alright, that’s it,” he commanded. While he very much enjoyed scaring the living daylights out of those who deserved it, he did not want an innocent to be afraid of him. “Please stop the car. I’ll call Carl. He’ll pick me and the dogs up.”

“I’m fine!” hissed Agent Morgan, his grip on the steering wheel tight enough to hurt, before he took a deep, calming breath, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s quite natural for people to be afraid of me. You have no reason to fear me, though. Heaven is where you are headed.”

Agent Morgan chuckled a little and shook his head. While his voice was soft and a pleasure to listen to, the former Lord of Hell had no idea how to interpret it; the sound carried a lot of emotion and a lot of pain.

“Look, Mr… Lucifer, that’s a weird name, man,” he chuckled again. “It’s not you, it’s-“

“’ _Me_ ’?” completed Lucifer for him. “Humans may confuse me to no end, but even I know that this sentence is code for ‘ _it’s absolutely you or something you did_.’”

The agent pulled the car over, stopped and turned to look at him, “So, you’re the devil, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you said yesterday that you don’t share your friends’ and lovers’ secrets, correct?”

“Absolutely,” replied Lucifer, frowning a bit.

“Well, I’m not your friend or your lover, but the devil always holds up his end of the bargain, correct?”

“My word is my bond,” pledged Lucifer, solemn as ever when it came to vows. Cleo and Juno lowered their heads a little and made themselves smaller, echoing the promise faithfully as any canine would.

“If I tell you why, what do you want in return for your silence?”

Lucifer wanted to say ‘nothing’, because he did not want anything for keeping a secret this important to Agent Morgan, but he knew the man would not be at peace before the other shoe dropped.

“You will accept my farewell gift without question and you will help me convince the rest of the team to accept theirs.”

“Seriously?” asked Morgan disbelievingly.

“My only offer. I wish you no harm, any of you, but you’ve all grown up in poor or middleclass homes, and although Agent Rossi’s finances are excellent, the rest of you will not respond well to expensive gifts. Delilah explained to me that humans do not like the feeling of being indebted to a stranger, which is a lark really, given that people have willingly made deals with me for millenia.”

“I accept,” was all Agent Morgan said. He sighed, took a deep breath and then said, “My father was a cop. When I was ten, he was shot  while on duty.” Lucifer listened intently. It was by no means the most tragic childhood he had heard about, but it explained the agent’s need for justice. It was a moment later when Lucifer realized that the death of the father was only the beginning. The profiler took a shuddering breath before he continued, “I lashed out, got into legal trouble and… That’s when my mother was contacted about me joining a youth center… At first, he was like a surrogate father to me: he taught me football, got me off the streets, but then,” a sigh, “he started taking me on fishing trips and once he had me in that cabin, he-“

Sympathy and fury battled for dominance and all Lucifer wanted was a name.

“He hurt you. For how long…?”

“From the age of twelve to seventeen,” breathed Agent Morgan, his head lowered. Lucifer would never understand why the victims of sex crimes felt more shame than the person who committed them; especially victims of child abuse. It made no logical sense. They had done nothing. “Compliant victimization is the term,” the FBI agent continued. “He made sure that there was a hell of a lot to lose if I ever told anyone. There was no proof. Everyone loved him: my mother, the cops… Who’d believe me? In the beginning, I was a troublemaker. Later I’d never say ‘no,’ so... that might as well have been a ‘yes,’ right?”

Lucifer usually dealt with the monsters that committed such crimes, not with their victims. He had no idea what to say, so he replied softly, “What would you tell a child that went through the very same ordeal?”

Agent Morgan chuckled, and nodded, “That it’s bullshit. That he wanted to make them think that. That this is how he operated. In truth, they could be no more at fault than if he had held a gun to their heads and forced himself on them.”

Lucifer nodded slowly, “So, there is no logic in being ashamed.”

“No, there isn’t,” the FBI agent paused for a moment. “ _Logically_ , I know that. I’m working on feeling it, too.”

“Good. I have an excellent therapist if you’re looking for one.”

To his immense relief, that comment earned him a bright smile that reached the man’s eyes, “Nah, man, thanks, but I’m covered.”

There was silence, and predictably, Lucifer, never a fan of uncomfortable silences, was the one who broke it, “So, when I was flirting with you, I reminded you of him? Is that why you flinched?”

“No,” was the instant, firm reply. “You’re nothing like him. I flinched because I recognize that confidence of yours. Devil or not, you _are_ dangerous. Not that you’re a threat to any of us, but you could be. And there’s a part of us that forever remains a child, and that part of _me_ recognized a predator.”

“I see,” mused Lucifer. There was no point in denying that statement. He _was_ a predator. He was the one to prey on the hunters. “I will behave myself.”

“ _’Oh, Agent Morgan, so bossy. It tantalizing,_ ’ the man quoted back to him. ”Really?”

Lucifer winced, “ _Better_. I will behave myself _better_.”

Again, the man grinned a bit, “Don’t. It’s flattering, and I know you respect my boundaries, or anyone’s, really.”

It was a pity this man was straight, and even if he were not, was effectively scared away from ever accepting a male lover, because Lucifer would have very much enjoyed showing him that two chaps together were a marvelous thing if done right.

That was not the point of this conversation, however. As Agent Morgan continued to drive them to the precinct, he asked casually, “Could you tell me his name and is he still alive?”

“Carl Buford, currently locked up for homicide, but we never got him for molestation due to statute of limitation.”

“I see,” whispered Lucifer. “Pity. What prison is he in, exactly?”

Sharp eyes were on him, “Something tells me that I shouldn’t give you this piece of information.”

“I do not condone murder, Agent Morgan, but I do find that castration is a beautiful form of punishment for pedophiles.” Not that he condoned it on the living. If he did, he would have invited Dromos to Earth. That demon knew no mercy when it came to molestation; it was his preferred area of punishment, even. “Anyway, do give me a call when he dies, will you?”

He would be waiting for this Carl Buford.

“Uh-hu,” replied Agent Morgan, frowning a bit. After a moment of silence, taking his time to drive back onto the road, he continued, “You’re not kidding, are you? You want to know when he dies?”

“Every criminal must be punished,” stated Lucifer solemnly. “Some are punished while they’re among the living, others will get their due in the afterlife.”

“I see,” said the FBI agent. “That’s a comforting thought. That people don’t get away with it.”

“No, they really don’t. I make sure of it.”

Or he used to.

He was on vacation, but Hell was still functioning in his absence, and would continue to function for at least another fourteen years. No matter what Amenadiel was thinking Lucifer had made sure that Hell could still work without him. He had just… He exhaled sharply, took a big gulp of whisky from his flask, and enjoyed the burn in his throat. Not that the alcohol had any effect on him, but it dispelled the memory. He never wanted to return to Hell, but unless one of his siblings stepped up, he would have to. His options were limited and Amenadiel had made it clear how much he despised the mere suggestion. It would break both Azrael and Raphael to take his place. Uriel, who saw every pattern, would go insane within a week (literally insane; Lucifer shuddered at the thought what his brother would do as Lord of Hell); Gabriel and Remiel were not made for this. While Raguel’s powers had little effect on the dead and Hell could probably withstand her powers, she had other tasks. Really, only Michael or Amenadiel could do his job. Neither of them was inclined to do it.

A hand on his forearm brought him back to the present. He looked from the strong hand to concerned, brown eyes that spoke of warmth and Light.

“You okay?”

“Yes!” said he immediately, aiming for a grin. “Just thinking about post-holiday blues of all things. Especially now that I’m working with you and your team.”

That had Agent Morgan perk up, “So, all this. The club, the parties, helping us find a group of rapists, that’s a vacation for you? We’ve checked you out: pleasure or not, you worked hard to make this club what it is today. You are there every night, making sure everyone is having a good time. But that’s all a vacation to you? A six-year-vacation? Are you a spy? Special Forces? But how can you be any of that without knowing the first thing about taking cover?”

“I told you, darling. I’m the devil. I don’t take cover. I’m what bad people cower from.”

“That’s not an answer to my question,” responded the profiler. “What did you do before you came here? I saw you down in that cellar. You were angry, but you didn’t even flinch.”

“I used to be a torturer until I decided that I didn’t want to be one anymore,” replied Lucifer harshly. “Is this what you want to hear? I ruled Hell. My task was to punish those whose deeds destroyed their path to Heaven.”

“Then why stop? Nothing you just told me explains why you stopped. You obviously believe in right and wrong. While you dislike being a torturer, you ruled a place where people are being punished for their deeds. Why stop?”

“Because divine justice is flawed!” snapped the devil. Cleo and Juno lowered their heads and whimpered their apologies. Lucifer closed his eyes, “Hush, pups. My anger wasn’t aimed at any of you.”

He deliberately included Agent Morgan, who did not look afraid. The pups confirmed that he was calm.

“So, you want to seek justice for the women here. Even if your belief system shattered while you were in Hell. You do it because you know it’s the right thing to do.”

Nobody, not even Dr. Linda, had ever quite put it this way. His dark eyes met Agent Morgan’s warm, understanding gaze and he nodded, “Yes, I think I do.”

“Good,” replied Agent Morgan, pulling into the parking lot of the precinct. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Lucifer.”

“I don’t understand,” muttered the devil. “Surely, you must think I’m mad, unstable or something.”

“I judge behavior, not words. You’re soft with the Kid, with Garcia and LAPD’s forensic scientist, Ella, while being perfectly aware of the sheer genius that surrounds them. You treat Emily and JJ with the respect they deserve. You made Hotch open up to you. You knew I was uncomfortable in your presence, so you confronted me about it. Now you just lost your composure and your first instinct was to reassure the dogs, because they had nothing to do with your rage. You truly believe you’re the devil, and I’m sure you had to do terrible things in your previous job, but you didn’t enjoy it. And that’s all I need to know about you. You’re a good man, Lucifer Morningstar.” With that, he turned off the engine, took the keys and left the car.

Stunned, Lucifer stayed in his seat.

The door in the back opened, “Come on, pooches. Hey, do they have names?” asked Agent Morgan.

“Yes, Cleo and Juno.”

“Huh,” replied the FBI agent. “Which is which?”

“The one you’re petting right now is Cleo,” replied Lucifer, “and she’s asking where your ‘ _pack-lab_ ’ is. I’m guessing that is a dog. She can smell him faintly. She thinks his scent is very sweet.”

“Clooney? He’s my labrador retriever. How did-?” He stopped, shaking his head. “Hotch and the rest are waiting for us.”

They entered the building, and Juno was very excited to follow suit. She grumbled about her old den and how the scents had changed. She was about to turn left when Lucifer called her back so they could follow Detective Espinoza who was leading them to the rooms where the BAU had set up their boards.

“Every pet owner is required to register their dogs in LA,” said the detective as they walked, “the veterinarian we called to check them out will read their chips to identify the owners. They might bring us a lot closer to solving this.”

“That’s not necessary,” sounded Agent Decker’s voice from behind them. “This dog,” she gestured at Juno. “She’s K9.”

“How can you tell?” asked Agent Hotchner, who had just stepped out of the room, the rest of the team right behind him.

“She walked towards the offices of our K9 unit, and she’s a Belgian Shepard, Malinois, to be exact. This one is trained.”

“I’ll call Tom Lewis, he’s the K9 unit chief. If this dog-” began Detective Espinoza.

“Juno,” clarified Lucifer.

“If Juno was ever here,” the detective accepted without question, though he rolled his eyes in the process, “either for training or as a visitor, he’ll know.”

“Juno?” a sharp voice had Juno at instant submission, and Cleo followed suit.

‘ _Packleader_ ,’ she expressed confidently. ‘ _His-packleader.’_

“His-packleader? Not Smells-Like-Him’s packleader?” clarified Lucifer, as Lieutenant Monroe approached them briskly. She was stunningly beautiful, with dark brown hair, brimming with ambition. There was an innate Light to her, not quite as bright as that of Ms. Lopez, Delilah, Dr. Linda or the members of the BAU, but still bright enough to be noticable. Definitely not as bright as Detective Decker’s Light, which was almost blindingly strong. Detective Decker’s Light was alluring and putting that together with her apparent immunity to his power over desire screamed ‘divine interference.’ It was by no means the first time that Dad had wanted to toy with him in the form of sending miracles masked as beautiful men or women, or in other forms, though it had not happened in centuries. Last time was shortly before Mum had been sent to Hell. While thinking about Dad’s old tricks, he further inspected the lady whose entire person screamed authority. She guided them all into the room set up for the BAU as she started to explain.

“Juno. Her handler was Larry Ward. He was under investigation for being on the take. Before we could come to any conclusion, he committed suicide three months ago.”

That did not sound like a great loss, but surely, there were better options for a greedy police officer than to doom yourself to Hell with no hope for redemption.

“And the dog?” asked Detective Espinoza.

“We don’t separate dogs from their handlers as long as the handler is technically still a member of the force. He was under investigation, but he was not fired, so Juno stayed with him. However, she was not found at the scene.”

“Smells-Like-Him,” muttered Agent Morgan. “Garcia, did Larry Ward have siblings?”

Ms. Garcia typed quickly and efficiently before answering at lightning speed, “Yes, he did. Two brothers: Adam and Roy Ward. They grew up in a one-parent houshold. The father died when Adam was nine, Larry seven and Roy six. The mother had a fulltime job. All of them were troublemakers, but nothing too bad for Adam and Larry, who both straightened out by the time they were fourteen and twelve, respectively. Adam went into the Army, but died in action two years ago. Larry got into the LAPD as a dog handler, barely rose in the ranks but nothing pointed to him doing shady things until one year ago when his bank account started showing a suspicious number of cash deposits below 200 dollars.”

“Trigger, Garcia?”

“Well, if you consider the mother dying of cancer a trigger then yes, sir. The mother’s health insurance didn’t cover for the cost and he was up to his gills in debt. I’m guessing that’s when he started taking bribes.”

Lieutenant Monroe straightened at that, “He didn’t tell me that.”

“Lieutenant, regardless of whether he told you or not,” stated Agent Hotchner quietly, “fact remained that he did something you could not condone regardless of circumstances.”

She nodded briskly, and Ms. Garcia continued, “Now Roy is another story. He was in juvie twice, once for petty theft, once for lewd behavior and forceful advances. He was accused of sexual assault in his mid-twenties, but like so many of these unbelievingly frustrating cases, the charges didn’t stick. He’s lived in LA his entire life, but get this, he works for a company specializing in, and I quote, ‘ _aerospace and defence_ ’ and guess where they’re shipping their products regularly and he’s one of the official drivers?”

“San Diego.”

“You betcha, my dear Agent Rossi.”

Lucifer stared at the tech goddess before him, “I bow to you, Ms. Garcia.”

“Oh, sugar, that’s just the beginning. Did you know that, while he may live on the outskirts of town, his credit card bill shows me that he spends a lot of time within two blocks of Lux?”

“He must be one of our UnSubs,” began Agent Morgan. “But he doesn’t fit the profile of either the submissive or the dominant partners. He must be our number 5. Baby-g-Garcia, what about the mother?” he caught himself just in time, but most likely only because there was an additional audience that was not the team. Lucifer hoped that his presence had no influence of Agent Morgan’s frankly adorable nickname for Ms. Garcia.

“Died, last month,” was her solemn reply.

“That’s when the killing started,” chimed in Agent Prentiss. “So death was more than a security measure. But that still doesn’t give us any hints about the other UnSubs.”

“Maybe it does,” said Reid. “Garcia, if they lost their father so early in their lives, did the mother have contact to her own or her late husband’s siblings?”

“Oh, the plot is thickening, my friends,” grinned Ms. Garcia after a moment. “Their mother’s sister Marianne and her husband James Fletcher moved into the neighborhood shortly after the husband died with their son Marcus Fletcher, twelve at the time, so six years older than Roy. He was a bully both in school and at home until Adam and Larry fought back, and the resulting brawl was actually Adam’s only citation, because he handled the situation aggressively enough for Marcus to visit the hospital with a broken nose and arm. Fletcher continued to bully other children, but left his cousins alone. He was an athlete and kind of got away with it, the jerk. When he was twenty and in college, he was accused of attacking and attempting to rape a twenty-one year old brunette, but charges were dropped.”

“Does Fletcher have any connections to San Diego?”

“Yes. His business partner, Jason Woods, lives in San Diego with his wife and two kids. He is also, drumroll please, Marcus Fletcher’s paternal cousin. Their paths crossed at UCLA, and oh, Jason Fletcher was Marcus’ alibi during the rape charges.”

“That’s when they probably found out that their tastes matched,” said Agent Prentiss.

“What kind of business do they have?”

“It’s a small, but lucrative business offering loans and financial advice to college athletes at UCLA and UC San Diego, so they have two offices, although they primarly stay in LA. The business is lucrative, because the few that made it big in sports after college continued to be their clients and they offer discounts to regularly broke college athletes.”

“Damn,” muttered Agent Morgan, “that’s gonna suck for the kids who had nothing to do with this. But I bet they had this business idea because Fletcher was a college athlete and he knows the pain.”

“So does his cousin. They were both star football players, but didn’t make the cut to go pro,” continued Garcia. “They were excellent linebreakers-“ and waved away Agent Morgan when he reminded her that it was ‘linebacker’ not ‘linebreaker.’ Lucifer grinned widely at their antics. “Their team didn’t lose a single game when they worked together.”

“So tight bond, familial but not brothers. This could be the two dominant UnSubs,” said Agent Rossi.

“But we don’t have any hard evidence yet,” interjected Agent Prentiss. “How do we identify the submissive partners?”

Deep in thought, Dr. Reid was looking at the board in front of him before he addressed him.

“Lucifer,” he began. “What can you tell us about the men? What else did you see and hear in that house?”

He was very careful in how he phrased it, but Lucifer knew he wanted to know about the dogs.

“The dogs didn’t spend a lot of time in the house. There were only three males there: Smells-Like-Him, Roy Ward, I assume, Foul-Male, who dominated over Ward, and Skittish-Runt, who did everything for Foul-Male and wanted to mate with him.”

“Excuse me?” said Detective Decker, laughing shortly and mockingly. “Look, this is ridiculous!”

“What else do you know about the pack?” asked Dr. Reid, his eyes never leaving Lucifer’s. He did not seem to think he was lying or delusional. He took him very, very seriously.

“The pack?” repeated Lucifer. Was he using canine terms on purpose, or was he using the profiler-based terminology?

‘ _No-pack. No-family. No-offspring. All-male.’_

Juno relayed to him. She offered her head in order to be petted, and he complied. She tilted her head further in order to press her right ear into his palm, enjoying the sensation very vocally. Dogs’ approval of humans and their love for angels were similar in that it was utterly non-sexual and more familial. Touch was coveted and appreciated in a way he could barely describe. Dogs were incredibly sensitive to it, and sometimes, Lucifer theorized that the primary reason that wolves stayed with humans was not because of advantages regarding food and shelter, but because they were gluttons when it came to being petted by hands with opposable thumbs.

 _‘No-_ pack,’ she repeated firmly. ‘No _-human-female.’_

“What about the human-females they bring to their houses?” Lucifer addressed her directly.

_‘Prey-break-rival-pack-mating-season?’_

That was the least cohorent answer he had ever received from a dog. Juno was upset, and Cleo, who was calmer and more grounded than Juno, also thought that their behavior made no sense. That was not surprising. The concept of rape did not really exist among dogs.

“They’re not a pack,” Lucifer addressed Reid. “A canine pack is like a family. The whole alpha-beta hierarchy is a projection from primates onto canines. Juno’s and Cleo’s pack broke apart with Larry Ward’s death. They were picked up by Smells-L-Roy Ward the next day. He was devastated by his brother’s death, so they stayed with him even though he was not packleader-material. Foul-Male dominates Roy Ward, but neither Juno nor Cleo accepted him as packleader. He’s beaten Cleo over a challenge. Roy Ward saved her life.”

“Is Foul-Male Marcus Fletcher?” asked Agent Jareau, looking mildly confused but willing to roll with with it.

“How would I know? Dogs may be remarkably good at understanding human speech and emotion, but they usually do not register someone’s real name except for the names of children because they’re being addressed similarly to dogs and they know how to read that.”

“Stop, just stop,” interfered Detective Decker irritably. “You must think that this is all very funny, don’t you? A source of amusement for your lavish lifestyle. But this is real life, Morningstar, something you know nothing about. These women go through hell and every moment we lose is another hour they spend there.”

Lucifer stared at her, speechless for a moment, “You don’t need to lecture me on the reality of Hell, Detective Decker. I know it intimately. I’m just trying to hel-“

“Then let the professionals do their job,” she interrupted.

“Actually,” said Agent Hotchner softly, “I think we’ve just taken an important step forward thanks to Mr. Morningstar’s input.”

“No, Dan knew that we could check dog registration, I recognized that this was a K9 unit dog and Lieutenant Monroe recognized the dog,” she contradicted.

“Actually, without Mr. Morningstar, there wouldn’t be a dog at the precinct, because we would have had to shoot them,” countered Agent Morgan. “Without him, there wouldn’t have been a name for Lieutenant Monroe to recognize. There is a high likelihood that their identification chips were removed. It’s not common for men like Fletcher and Woods to tolerate animals, but obviously, they did. They will have made sure that they cannot be traced back to them. So, what do we assume happened? Bab-Garcia, where was Larry Ward’s funeral?”

“Here in LA, and before you ask, Fletcher was in San Diego at the time, but, given his transactions, returned to LA prematurely, at least judging from his trip to a gas station. His usual trips to San Diego take two to three weeks, but right around the funeral, he returned after five days. And yes, Woods joined him.”

“But why?” asked Detective Espinoza. “Are there any phone records between Roy Ward and either Fletcher or Woods?”

“Give me a second,” muttered Ms. Garcia. With a few strokes of her keyboard, her fingers were playing a melody all of their own, soothing her team members in the process. While they were still tense, the music beneath her fingertips seemed to increase their calm and confidence.

After a few moments, she said, “It looks like there was no direct phone contact between Roy Ward and either Marcus Fletcher or Woods until three months ago. However, Roy called his cousin the day that his brother’s body was found. After the mother died, the number of average calls per week increased from three to fifteen.”

“So, there’s your secondary trigger,” concluded Agent Rossi. “First, the death of Larry Ward, which rekindled the contact between the two cousins. Then, the mother died and their mutual hatred for women was suddenly on the table. That’s also when the killing started.”

“Hatred for women? That’s a bit of leap, wouldn’t you say?” interjected Lieutenant Monroe. “I mean, yes, the men we’re looking for definitely hate women, but right now the idea that Roy Ward, Marcus Fletcher and Jason Woods are the men we’re looking for is guesswork.”

“We’re profilers, Ma’am,” replied Agent Morgan calmly. “It’s not conjecture. I bet that, when we dig deeper, we’ll find complaints from women that work professionally with Roy Ward that he is rude and borderline inappropriate with women. Marcus Fletcher and Woods will, at the most, have a female secretary, but they won’t have any female athletes as clients, or male athletes with female managers or coaches. Fletcher appears to have no wife, but Woods’ wife and the assistant will be young, blond, and submissive. They cannot deal with confident women. Given that Ward grew up in a one-parent household with a mother working full-time, this hatred could originate from perceived neglect, actual neglect or possibly abuse. Whatever the case, I bet that she was a brunette.”

“Right you are, my delicious chocola-nyway,” she cleared her throat, but Lucifer, grinning from ear to ear did not let this slip of the tongue pass by, “Oh please, keep going, Ms. Garcia.”

Unfortunately, Agent Hotchner was not having it, “Now we have three suspects, and we’ll have enough leverage to demand a DNA sample, meaning we should be able to connected Fletcher and Woods to the rape of Irene Reynolds, but not the murders, and we’re still missing the two submissives. Garcia, Fletcher’s assault charges, what can you tell us about that?”

“Sir, the assailant wore a mask. He pressed her against a wall and asked her whether she ever used a dildo on herself… Oh God,” she looked so disturbed and saddened by the whole thing, Lucifer felt a moment of sympathy. Thankfully, Agent Morgan put a hand on her shoulder and continued explaining the details for her, “Looks like he didn’t use the word ‘precious’, but definitely made it clear that he fantasized about using toys. Definitely the same UnSub.”

“That’s the UnSub whose submissive partner may be in love with him, correct?” asked Detective Decker, which was confirmed, and reminded Lucifer of a key detail.

“Juno mentioned that Skittish-Runt wanted to mate with Foul-Male, so that means that Marcus Fletcher was probably in that house.”

“What else do we know about Skittish-Runt?” asked Agent Prentiss.

“Skittish-Runt,” repeated Lucifer before looking at the dogs.

“Yes, hair-color, height, name, anything would be appreciated,” suggested Agent Rossi. He seemed quietly amused by the whole thing. “Do they own the house?”

“Look, dogs don’t recognize ownership, not the way humans do. They understand pack dynamics, or lack thereof, but they don’t know whose house it is, especially if the owner is being dominated.”

“Okay, have they stayed in other houses?” this question came from Agent Jareau.

“Again, there’s no point in asking that question. Their answers won’t make sense. While dogs can find their home… or den… across miles and miles, houses where they spend only a short amount of time won’t mean anything to them.”

“We’re going at this the wrong way,” interrupted Detective Decker. “Let’s assume that Roy Ward owns these dogs. It makes sense that he would primarily visit his cousin’s ‘den’ and not the shelter Woods uses for his crimes. So, Marcus Fletcher is the dominant and his submissive partner owns that house.” All members of the BAU nodded affirmatively. “When you went there this morning, they weren’t there, but they left the dogs behind. Why?”

“Because one of their victims escaped and they had to leave in a hurry,” answered Agent Rossi, his eyes wide with realization. “But Ward cannot be happy about leaving them behind. This means that their pack may as well be breaking apart as we speak.” Lucifer opened his mouth, and Agent Rossi continued before the devil could protest. “Pack as in ‘pack of UnSubs.’”

“So we have different angles. A) We find Ward, Fletcher and Woods, bring them in, ask them questions, get their DNA to see if it matches with what we have in the database. B) We talk to Fletcher’s parents and Woods’ family. C) We wait for forensics to process the scene in the house for evidence, especially regarding the identitiy of Fletcher’s submissive partner, but time is of the essence here, so what do we do?” piped up Detective Collins, looking to Detective Decker for guidance.

“It’s too dangerous to talk to their families,” concluded Agent Rossi. “As soon as they realize that we’re closing in, they will kill the women.”

“What about the survivors?” suggested Dr. Reid.

 “Carol and Natasha have given us everything they know,” replied Detective Decker firmly.

“Actually,” contradicted Dr. Reid. “Ms. Trevor may have been kept in the other house. From what we know, the UnSub who primarily hurt her was Jason Woods, considering that the UnSub called her ‘precious.’” Lucifer exhaled sharply, thinking of Sophie’s ordeal. He would find Jason Woods and show him exactly what happened when you hurt someone the devil held dear. “Now that we know more, we might be able to ask different questions.”

“I agree,” concurred Agent Hotchner. “Mr. Morningstar-“

“For the last time, my name is Lucifer, Agent Hotchner,” hoping that this time his plead would stick.

“Lucifer,” repeated the man without question. “Do you think Mrs. Wilson is willing to participate in this interview? They went through a similar ordeal, and the differences may give us the necessary clues.”

Lucifer knew Sophie, and he knew her soul could not rest until the man who raped her was caught and punished, “Yes, she absolutely would.”

“Good, I would like you, Agent Prentiss, Detective Espinoza and Mrs. Wilson in that room, as long as Ms. Trevor is fine with that,” he continued.

Lucifer nodded slowly, but something was amiss; he could feel that this was an unusual number of people in the room, and he was the one person that this interview did not require.

Agent Hotchner was very good at his job, however, and instantly recognized his hesitation, “Mrs. Wilson will be more comfortable with you in the room. She knows Agent Prentiss and Detective Espinoza left a good impression with Mr. Wilson.”

That made more sense. Then Agent Hotchner addressed the rest of the room.

 “Reid, I want you at the board. Narrow down the geographic profile as far as you can with the help of Garcia, who will track these men’s movements via their financial expenses. Be ready to work quickly after the interview with Ms. Trevor. Morgan, Dave, I want you two at the crime scene. Detective Decker, Detective Collins, you might want to join them. JJ, you and I will stay here at the precinct as there are a few strategies we need to discuss.”

“And I have a department to run,” said Lieutnant Monroe.

“I’m afraid you will have to do this with us nearby,” contradicted Agent Hotchner. “In fact, it would be best if you did not go home by yourself.”

Flabbergasted, the lieutenant looked at him, “You think they escalated because Roy Ward blames me for his brother’s suicide?”

“Yes and no. First and foremost, you are a brunette, confident woman with a considerable amount of power and you must consider yourself to be at risk for that reason alone. It is also possible that he’s been killing surrogates and that you are his ultimate target, because he mistakingly blames you for his brother’s suicide, ” clarified Agent Hotchner calmly.

“Great,” she sighed, “wonderful. I would say that I’m quite safe in my office, wouldn’t you agree?” At his nod, she continued briskly, but with a considerable amount of humor, “Good, then I will make sure someone drops me off at my place when I go home. I cannot assign myself police protection based on a profile alone without being outright threatened. However, my husband is at home. Do you think that level of protection is sufficient?” she asked curtly, but with a smile on her lips. “

“Yes, ma’am,” replied Agent Hotchner, amusement in his eyes but not quite resulting in a smile.

Juno observed the two very carefully.

_“Different-pack-not-rivals-stronger-together-change-mate?”_

Lucifer laughed, “I’m quite sure she’s happily mated, and he’s not ready for another mate, love.”

“I’m sorry?” the lieutenant stared at him, utterly confused.

“Juno recognized that Agent Hotchner is the packleader of the BAU, and that you are the uncontested commander of the LAPD. She figures that you are stronger as one,” he explained. “She suggested you change mates and merge the packs so to speak.”

She choked a little and this time the faintest smiles appeared on Agent Hotchner face.

“It’s a good idea, though,” said Dr. Reid hesitanly.

“What? Mating?” asked Agent Rossi, who seemed unsure whether he should laugh or shake his head at the absurdity, yet he did not challenge Lucifer, but rather rolled with the punch.

“No, Juno and Cleo should totally stay with Lieutenant Monroe,” elaborated Dr. Reid. “Think about it: Lucifer said they accept her as a packleader, and she’ll be safe even without official police protection. Juno is trained after all.”

Lieutenant snorted, “She was primarily trained as a narc.”

“She got the gist of protecting a house, believe me,” chimed in Agent Jareau, skillfully but not completely hiding her terror. Something had happened to her that made her afraid of dogs. “I’m kind of unsure how they would react to children, though, if you have any.”

 _“Pups?”_ two very interested lady-dogs asked, Cleo wagging her tail even. Dogs’ ability to understand human speech was truly impressive.

“I wouldn’t worry about that. They’ll be disappointed if there aren’t any spawns,” relayed Lucifer.

“First, I would prefer if you didn’t refer to my children as ‘spawn’,” Lieutenant Monroe said in exasperation, but also with an undertone that betrayed how she had thought of them as ‘brats’ occasionally, as any mother naturally would. “Second, I prefer having two dogs with me over taking away manpower from this case for my own protection.” A short pause, then she looked at the dogs, “Juno, Cleo? With me.”

The dogs did not hesitate and happily trailed after her. The lieutenant was brusque and sharp, but her hand softly caressed Juno’s fur as she walked.

“Yeah,” smiled Agent Prentiss. “They’ll be fine. Shall we, Mr. Morningstar?” Her eyes gleamed with amusement.

“Lead the way, Agent Prentiss,” he replied.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Refs:
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Linebacker  
> https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/5c3b/891809039673f22ba6fa015de0c6bff6d486.pdf  
> http://biology.kenyon.edu/stures/compsbergdahl/structure.html  
> https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5126626/  
> https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0376635711001884#sec0035  
> https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/fc96/c009c01713a0757a2698d4a56ba017a5e5a3.pdf


	9. Soul of a Titan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan joins Agent Prentiss and Morningstar to the hospital to have another interview with Carol Trevor. And outright bizarre meeting takes place. Dan has no idea why the FBI takes that lunatic seriously, no matter how useful he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. This chapter kicked my behind.
> 
> Warning: Interview with a victim of rape. I do not go into any specifics, but it may be upsetting nevertheless.
> 
> Second Warning: Sorry for the cliffhanger...

If they were not looking for two missing women who had to be going through an unimaginable ordeal, Dan would take a moment to stop and think about the craziness of this entire case. The Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI took Morningstar seriously. Dr. Reid, a certified genius, had just interrogated the club owner about two dogs.

And now Agent Hotchner, perhaps not a genius, but one of the most grounded, calm people he had ever met, had sent them to question Ms. Trevor, ‘them’ including Morningstar. Dan was at a loss.

The man was a civilian.

A civilian consultant, sure.

An outright bizarre human being, absolutely, but he was a civilian nevertheless and for that interview, they were bringing in another potential victim of one their prime suspects, Jason Woods.

While they were waiting for both Ms. Trevor and Ms. Wilson to arrive, they had little to do and Agent Prentiss was talking to Morningstar, seemingly eager to discuss some sort of language issue she was having.

“I never get the intonation quite right. I hear myself talk, and I know it’s wrong, but it’s like I can’t force myself to place the tongue where it’s supposed to be. Do you understand what I’m saying?” she asked, her dark eyes bright and enthusiastic.

“Linguistically, I understand you quite perfectly, Agent Prentiss, but no, I do not actually empathize with your troubles, because languages come to me as easy as breathing, as the bizarre idiom says, though I don’t technically need to breathe, so let me clarify… Speaking in tongues is as natural to me as breathing is to you, or comes as easy to me as music. _Sprachen sind lediglich Melodien in verschiedenen Tonarten_.”

“I don’t speak German,” replied Agent Prentiss with an apologetic smile.

“Languages are simply melodies in different keys, that’s all,” he replied softly.

“Wow, that’s an enviable ability. Do you have any idea how long it took me to learn all these languages?” she smiled.

“Surely not as long as you claim, Agent Prentiss,” grinned the club owner seductively. “I’ve heard you speak. You have a gift. Don’t dismiss it.”

She smiled happily, tilted her head and leaned in a little closer, her eyes getting lost in Morningstar’s gaze and Dan felt like he should leave the room. To his great surprise, the hedonistic club owner was the one to break eye contact.

“Agent Prentiss, all you have to say is ‘yes’ and I will gladly share my bed with you or let you have your way with me in yours, but I don’t think you want to,” he stated cautiously. The suave ladies man looked quite lost. “I mean, while I may still have trouble reading regular human emotion, this is about desire. Desire is fire and Light is my domain, so I must ask. You do not truly desire me, do you, Agent Prentiss?”

His tone sounded positively enthralling, almost hypnotizing, and Agent Prentiss’ pupils widened.

“No, I don’t,” she replied and leaned back reflexively. Clearing her throat, she continued. “Look, that’s not what I…” She stopped and he just smiled. It was not a cruel or mischievous smile; instead it looked ancient and very understanding.

“Seduction is an artform you’ve mastered, Agent Prentiss, never doubt that and, as I said, I’m more than willing to participate in anything you might offer, but only if that’s what you desire. What is it that you want, Agent Prentiss?”

“The thing is, I like you,” said she after a moment of silence. “You remind me a bit of Morgan. And usually, that’s fine, because I have Garcia, who would not let anyone near us without a background check so thorough that the CIA pales in comparison. Usually, I have Hotch, who’s a really good human being but very suspicious of anyone that is encroaching on his unit. Normally, there are Morgan and JJ who can both be highly protective and careful.”

“What about Dr. Reid?” he smiled knowingly.

“Oh please, if you’re nice to him and feed him, he’d probably follow you anywhere. With that library of yours, he might literally follow you to the very depths of Hell,” she laughed.

“I hope not,” replied Morningstar. “Hell is no place for a soul like Dr. Reid’s. What about Agent Rossi?”

“He’s fascinated,” was her casual reply. “And he must poke the things he’s fascinated by.”

“I see.”

After a moment of silence, their eyes never leaving each other, she continued, “So you see, I have to figure you out. Because…”

“You wish to protect the home you’ve so desperately carved out for yourself, and I’m an unknown entity you must decipher before you’re comfortable with having me near your family,” he concluded.

For a moment, she was speechless, but then all she could do was nod.

“I’m an open book,” he replied with a wide grin. “I do not lie, Agent Prentiss.”

“Okay,” she replied, taking the challenge. “Reid says your level of intelligence is probably higher than his. You speak more languages than I do. There’s nothing I can do to question you, so… You’re the devil. Show me.”

Predictably, he was quiet for a moment, but just when Dan assumed that he would chicken out, he pulled a very peculiar coin from his pocket. On one side, there was a star – ‘reverse pentagram,’ his mind supplied – with a goat head in its center and on the other side, there was an upside-down triangle with what looked an image of Jesus on a crucifix. The whole thing was so blasphemous Dan just knew that his late grandmother was turning in her grave.

Agent Prentiss’ eyes widened with a strange mix of awe and almost childish fear. Her hand reached out, but she stopped.

“If my grandmother saw you with this, she’d freak,” she muttered.

“Catholic?” he grinned.

“How did you know?”

“I’ve been blamed for a lot of things in my time, Agent Prentiss, but the Vatican has a particular hatred for me, and makes sure its worshippers think the worst of me. Anyway, you asked me to… and I’m afraid my demonstration must wait. Sophie’s here.”

So, he had just been stalling.

Clever club owner, really clever.

But he was not good enough for the LAPD or the FBI. He did not lie, however; Sophie Wilson turned around the corner just a moment later, her husband right behind her. Morningstar opened his arms and she rushed forward to hug him, her arms firmly wrapped around his lower back. His right hand cupped the back of her head while his left rested right between the shoulder blades. To Dan’s surprise, John Wilson also approached them, which had the club owner lean back a bit, but Mr. Wilson just slipped around so that his arms wrapped around both of them.

“How are you?” asked the club owner gently, his chin on top of Mrs. Wilson’s head.

“I’ll be better once you punish that son of a bitch,” she hissed and he hugged her just a little closer.

“How are _you_?” asked Mr. Wilson once they let go off each other. His expression was soft and deeply worried.

“Perfectly fine,” replied Mr. Morningstar, smiling. “Now, Ms. Trevor is at the hospital and the FBI believes that she may have crucial information on the men we’re looking for. One of the men who hurt her was probably the same person that hurt you. We think she may be more comfortable with you in the room. If you’re ready.”

“Yes,” she answered quickly. “When do we leave?”

“Right away if that is okay for you,” answered Agent Prentiss.

“Then what are we waiting for?” said the woman harshly, and walked out. Three quick steps and Morningstar was right by her left side, her husbands locked arms with her on the other. They took one car with Morningstar and the Wilsons in the back. She was in the middle holding taking the offered hands of the two men and brought them to her lap.

“Mrs. Wilson,” said Agent Prentiss. “I would like to prepare you for this conversation. Ms. Trevor has been interviewed before, so she may not be too willing to talk to us again. After all, she went through a terrible ordeal as you know from personal experience.”

“Did _you_ interview her?” asked Mrs. Wilson.

“No, that was Detective Decker,” replied the FBI agent cautiously.

“Oh, wonderful,” she rolled her eyes. “Did she accuse one of friends of rape as well?”

“No, she didn’t,” answered Agent Prentiss before Dan could defend his wife. “And you must be justifiably angry for that, but-“

“Before you defend her,” interrupted Mrs. Wilson. “Answer me one question: have you ever accused anyone of rape?”

“Actually, yes, I have, Mrs. Wilson,” said Agent Prentiss firmly. “While profiling is an excellent method to narrow down suspects, and a science I absolutely believe in, it is not always accurate. Sometimes it points us to the wrong person. Sometimes we question people that have done nothing, and put their lives under a magnifying glass. It’s not how it should be, but sometimes it happens. It is possible that our suspects are innocent and this is the reason why we cannot give you the names of our current suspects, because you might exact vengeance on people who were innocent.”

After that little speech, Mrs. Wilson fell silent. Through the backmirror, Dan could observe her leaning into Morningstar who put an arm around her, and simultaneously caressed Mr. Wilson’s hand that was still holding onto his wife’s.

“Detective Decker did an excellent job talking to her last time,” continued Agent Prentiss. “Regardless of your personal experience, she established a rapport with Ms. Trevor, so she will definitely ask why we come to meet with her instead of the detective.”

“And I will say that...?” she inquired.

“We will say that Detective Decker is otherwise engaged in the case and could not come with us, which is true actually, and then we will let her know that there are two women missing, and that we need Ms. Trevor’s help finding them. Hopefully, she will engage with us then. We already announced our visit,” she continued. “Truth be told, she can hardly bear the thought of another interview, so we hope that you might be able to connect with her. Also, we will try to go for a cognitive interview. In such an interview, we will guide her to a place in her mind where she’s safe and then ask her about her escape. I will conduct this interview if she gives consent to do so.”

Agent Prentiss was good at this. She had a way of putting people at ease, and by the time they were driving into the parking lot of the hospital, he found that even the civilians were sufficiently prepared for the interview. It was also quite striking that Morningstar had remained quiet for around ten minutes, which had to be some sort of personal record, Dan assumed.

That blessed silence stopped once they arrived at the hospital. How Morningstar managed to score five dates – or hookups, rather – between entering the building and standing in front of Ms. Trevor’s room, he could not say, but that satisfied grin on the club owner’s face was unbearable. Thankfully, it disappeared when Agent Prentiss opened the door to their victim. All but Mr. Wilson entered the room as discussed in the car. Ms. Trevor was sitting on her bed, wearing actual clothes instead of hospital gowns. Her face was slowly healing but still bruised. She was poised and calm, but the expression in her eyes was heartbreaking.

“Ms. Trevor?” said Agent Prentiss softly. “My name is Emily Prentiss and this is Detective Daniel Espinoza. We talked on the phone.”

“I’ve told you everything I know,” said the woman resolutely and coldly. Her eyes then rested on the club owner. “Mr. Morningstar! What are you doing here?”

“I’m helping the police find the monsters that hurt you,” replied the club owner seriously and honestly.

“Oh,” she exhaled softly. “Where’s Detective Decker?”

“She’s currently following other leads,” said Agent Prentiss, quickly taking over. “If you’re ready, we would like to ask you a couple of follow-up questions…”

“Why?” she demanded harshly. It looked like, despite the nightmare she had to live through, she retained a remarkable level of strength, which was a relief, even if it did not work in their favor at the moment.

“Because today, three women were abducted,” replied Agent Prentiss honestly. “One was able to escape and we have reason to believe that the other two were brought to the same location as you were kept. We are here because you may be able to help us catch these men.”

She stared at the FBI agent, “I’ve told Detective Decker everything I remember.”

“I know,” replied Agent Prentiss. “I know you believe that, but Detective Decker did not apply a technique we call cognitive interview. It is a technique that-“

“-will help me remember by tapping into my senses,” completed the victim for her, her face expressionless. “I remember the term ‘cognitive’ from my undergrad psychology lectures at UCLA and I don’t need to relive what happened to me in technicolor. Thank you very much.”

Dan decided to chime in, “I understand that this is very hard for you-“ he began, but she interrupted him.

“Have you ever been raped, sir? Torn apart from inside out? I thankfully blacked out at some point when another set of strange hands was on me.” Her entire body was trembling, and she pulled the sheets of the bed closer to her.

Before Dan could confirm that he was clueless, Mrs. Wilson stepped up, “I was. I know.”

For the first time, another human emotion than anger and distress became visible on the woman’s face. She looked sympathetic and strangely ancient, “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” replied Mrs. Wilson, not missing a beat, looking just as ancient. “These people want to help.”

“So what? They took you with them so that we could bond over…” her voice broke and she said nothing in addition.

“The same man that hurt you, hurt me too. I’m here because I want to catch and punish that son of a bitch.”

“Which one of them hurt you?” asked Ms. Trevor. “Not that it matters, but… Yeah, which one?”

Mrs. Wilson blanched, “I’m so sorry.”

Morningstar, noticing her obvious distress, offered his hand, which she took in order to pull him closer.

“Look,” said Ms. Trevor, closing her eyes tightly, before looking at Agent Prentiss, “I cannot give you any more information. I refuse to relive it. I won’t give them that. I would like you to leave.”

“Of course,” said Morningstar, ready to depart within an instant. The move was exactly what Dan had expected of him. The club owner seemed like the type of man that left when things were getting difficult. Mrs. Wilson hesitated, but followed his lead.

Agent Prentiss seemed taken aback and looked from the club owner to their victim, and hesitantly tried to resolve things with Ms. Trevor whose attention was now on Morningstar.

“Don’t try to manipulate me, Mr. Morningstar, it’s not going to work.”

“I’m not trying to manipulate you. You have the power to say ‘no’ and send us away. You want us to leave, and therefore we will leave. It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Trevor,” said he and was on his way out, with Mrs. Wilson right by his side, when Ms. Trevor called them back.

“Lux is my favorite place in the city,” said she. “You know why?”

The would-be devil acknowledged her words, but did not venture a guess.

“It’s the safest club in the city, if not in the country. Do you have any idea how many guys I’ve picked up there? That floor you have? With the rooms? It’s perfect for women who are in it for the fun. You have security there, and I just always knew that if anything were amiss, someone would be there. Once, I could swear two of you guards-“ she began, but stopped quite abruptly. Whatever she wanted to tell him, she thought better of it. All she received in return was a delighted smile and his hands coming together.

“I’m so glad you like the rooms! I designed them myself. My guests are welcome to be as kinky as they desire as long as every person involved has given consent and has the mental capacity and maturity to give consent. The second floor is restricted for guests only, the third floor is open for people who wish to engage in salacious acts but are not directly patrons of the club.”

“Wait, you’re renting your rooms out to prostitutes?” asked Dan incredulously, mentally already taking steps to gather enough evidence to nail the arrogant club owner for pimping and pandering.

“Did I say anything about prostitution, Detective Espinoza?” he was dismissed, “I personally find it conscientious of the women and men to engage in sexual acts on a floor that is concerned for the safety of everyone involved. I don’t allow solicitation in my club. No crime has ever been committed within the walls of my home and I do not intend on letting it happen now.” There was a dangerous undertone as he said so, making the man seem even more like a crime lord that controlled his surroundings in a mafia-style manner. Then he made a complete turn and smiled at Ms. Trevor, “Seth and Murad from security have been going steady for years now. It’s good for them to live out their desires on the job, keeps the relationship fresh, I believe. Especially since they’re doing their best to keep it from Maze, which… well, is a foolish endeavor. As long as they tell the rest that they’re unavailable for the time being, I don’t care.”

“You’re a strange, strange man, Mr. Morningstar,” replied Ms. Trevor, surprising even herself by chuckling a bit, but she sobered very quickly. “I wish I had taken one of these rooms that night.”

“I know,” replied Morningstar softly. “We cannot change the past, and we cannot make this right, but we can seek justice in your name.”

“What if I don’t care about justice?” she countered. “What if I want them dead?”

Morningstar tilted his head, obviously taken aback, “You would doom yourself to end their miserable existence? That makes no sense.”

She laughed coldly and directly looked to Mrs. Wilson, “Don’t tell me you don’t want yours castrated in a dark, damp alley; humiliated and scared right before he takes his last breath.”

Mrs. Wilson looked from Morningstar to Ms. Trevor, “A few years ago, yes, that’s precisely what I wanted, but a wise soul taught me that I cannot rectify one evil by committing another one. It wouldn’t change what happened to me and I would only harm myself.”

“I don’t think you can injure what’s already broken,” whispered the woman, still angry, but also desperate.

Morningstar tilted his head. “Broken?” he repeated, his voice soft. “No, Ms. Trevor, you aren’t broken. You’re hurt. You must give yourself time to heal. This anger is normal. It may feel toxic, but your fury gives you the strength to hold on. Use it,” he encouraged her, his eyes wide and very dark. “Use it not to hurt, but to hang on. Once you’re healed, it’s time to climb and leave the abyss behind.”

“The abyss?” she repeated, utterly lost.

“You have the soul of a Titaness, darling,” he continued softly.

She snorted, “Does that make my tormentors the good guys then? Because it’s been a while since I delved into Greek Mythology, but the Olympians were the good guys and they won against the bad guys.”

“Oh, modern myths and their absolutes regarding ‘good’ and ‘evil.’”

That was rich coming from the guy who called himself _the devil_ and seemed to be having very clear opinions regarding right and wrong.

“Let me make one thing perfectly clear: the ancient Gods were in many ways like humans: infinitely flawed, capable of both good and evil. Zeus was a bastard, though I do not begrudge him for usurping Kronos, his father, who had devoured all of his children but Zeus who was hidden away by Rhea, the mother. Hades is an okay chap, not nearly as evil as Disney depicted, but he did commit a sin I do not eagerly forgive, when he-“ Mrs. Wilson squeezed his hand sharply, and Morningstar cleared his throat, “but I digress. What’s not really known is what happened to the female titans after the war. There are quite a few stories regarding their fate, most of them false, but they stayed neutral during the war against the Olympians, so one would think that Zeus was merciful. However, that’s not what happened. Like Kronos and all the other titans with the exception of Atlas and a few others cursed to uphold other tasks, the females were cast into the abyss that is Tartarus. He gave them an out, however. If they climbed up three times, thus accepting the rule of the three supreme gods – Hades, Poseidon and Zeus – they would be free. However, climbing that abyss once is an ordeal beyond what any human could bear. Climbing Tartarus three times is unimaginable hardship. What I’m asking of you isn’t easy, Ms. Trevor, and you have every right to tell me to go to hell – really, you do – but I am asking you to climb Tartarus and return to the Light. Just like the ordeal of Rhea, it isn’t fair you have to and it isn’t just, but you losing yourself to the dark won’t punish those that hurt you, and instead will throw you back into the abyss. Only this time, you won’t be able to climb to the top.”

Silence followed that strange, strange statement. Dan had no idea how this could help in any way. For some reason, it seemed to work on Ms. Trevor, however. Her shoulders slumped and she lowered her head.

“Okay, okay. Ask your questions, Agent Prentiss. I’ll… I’ll climb.”

Morningstar smiled, his eyes bright, as he caught her gaze. She noticed and her lips twitched just a tiny bit.

The FBI agent announced that she would put her phone on speaker, so that Dr. Reid and Ms. Garcia could listen from the other end. Agent Prentiss then asked her to sit down and then began to tell her to think of a place that made her feel safe. With a sigh, the woman’s eyes fluttered closed and she took calm, even breaths.

“Let’s go to that night. You were at Lux with your friend Sarah.”

“Yes, it was crowded that night,” replied Ms. Trevor and proceeded to walk them through the evening where she told about enjoying Morningstar’s set, and chatting up a couple of men. Neither of the two colleagues had been in the mood for sex, and the men were more than happy to indulge her and Sarah’s playful side. They were both tired after a long week, and left early. On their way out, they walked by the throngs of people eager to get in. The bouncer, Jeffrey, wished them a good night, and offered to call a cab for them, but Sarah wanted to move her legs a little more and they declined. As Ms. Trevor told them that, she got more and more agitated.

“You’re safe, Carol,” said Agent Prentiss urgently.

“I know,” breathed Ms. Trevor. “I just wished I had listened to him. I turned around the block and…”

“Yes, what do you notice?”

“Something is wrong. I feel eyes on me, and there are footsteps, so close and drawing nearer. I’m scared and… we’re trying to cross the streets, but there’s car and…” she continued, wringing her hands nervously. “Arms grab me and that is the last thing I remember.”

“Okay, Carol, good, now tell us what you remember from waking up, and don’t think about what happened, think about what you smelled and heard.”

“Mouldy, cold. It’s an old cellar, I think. They’re here! I can’t, I can’t…” she exclaimed and Agent Prentiss did not even blink, before continuing with a soothing tone of voice, “They cannot touch you. They cannot harm you, Carol. Tell me more. Listen beyond what they’re saying. Do you hear traffic?”

“I can hear cars, and the sound is always there. A busy street? It’s muffled. The ground rumbles regularly, and I can hear the metro.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, the metro is close. I’d recognize that horn anywhere.”

“Focus on that, Carol. You are familiar with that horn?”

“Yes, two short honks, then two long ones. The metro Gold line, I’m sure of it.”

“What else do you hear?”

“Water.”

“Rain?”

“Not sure, just… water, flowing water. A river, perhaps?”

“Is there anything else you can remember?” asked the FBI agent.

“No.”

“How did you escape?”

“We weren’t tied up, and we gave up on banging on the door shouting for help once we realized that nobody could hear us. It was quiet, and Sarah used a piece of wire trying to unlock the door, just like in the movies. She said something about having a troublemaker for an older brother... I just remember hearing that click, and we slipped out trying to be as quiet as possible. We didn’t dare calling for help and we snuck out of the house, but then I heard them and an alarm sounded. We ran, but they caught up with us, and Sarah stumbled. I just kept running.” A sob escaped her. “I should’ve waited. I should have helped!” Dan could not imagine what she was going through, but that guilt on top of everything seemed like the cruellest of punishments.

“Carol, you would have died too,” said Agent Prentiss. “But you are here now helping us find the men that killed Sarah. Her death is not your fault.”

“You know, I don’t have anyone in my family who served, but I used to like these war movies. ‘Leave no man behind’ and all that? I always figured that I wouldn’t be capable of abandoning anyone.’

“You didn’t abandon her,” countered Morningstar, apparently unable to sit still for longer than five minutes at a time. “No consciously. You didn’t trip her so you could live. Survival instincts may override any moral compass, but yours simply told you to run. Don’t let that guilt fester. It will weigh you down and you promised to climb.”

“Okay,” she exhaled, “but if I had-“ she cleared her throat. “Next thing I know is that somebody brought me to a hospital. That’s all I remember, is there anything else you need to know?”

“No, thank you, Carol,” replied Agent Prentiss. “Your statement was very useful and will help us triangulate the position of that house where you were kept, and this, in turn, will help us catch them.”

“You will tell me when you do.”

It was not a question.

“Of course, we will,” promised Dan automatically. “Thank you for your help.”

That was kind of their cue to leave. Even the civilians realized that Ms. Trevor needed to breathe. However, as they gave their polite goodbyes, Mrs. Wilson walked up to the lady and handed over a business card but not before she did not scribble a number on the back of it. “If you ever need someone to talk to, this is where you can find me. Call at any time. Day or night.”

“Thank you,” said Ms. Trevor, sounding touched, then she looked her in the eyes. “Does it get better?”

“Yeah. Takes time, though. And friends. Returning from Tartarus isn’t easy,” said she seriously, before smiling a little. “But I’ll be damned if it doesn’t feel good defying the bastards. They want to kill us. Let’s not just survive. Let’s _live_.”

Ms. Trevor did not return her facial expression, but she seemed to relax a little. Morningstar did not say much, but he told her to listen to Mrs. Wilson.

“Some say that stars shine brightestest in the dark, but that’s not true. In my experience, they always shine brighter in good company,” said he.

“I thought I was a titaness?” repeated Ms. Trevor, a hint of amusement in her eyes.

“No,” contradicted Morningstar softly. “I said you have the soul of one, the strength to overcome adversity, but ultimately, like all bright souls, you will always remind me of a star.”

Her lips twitched, “Goodbye, Mr. Morningstar.”

“Ms. Trevor,” he nodded.

Once they were out, and the Wilsons bid their goodbyes – not before asking for reassurance that they, at least, had not made things worse, which Agent Prentiss, Morningstar and Dan immedately gave – Agent Prentiss addressed the people that had been put on speaker, “Talk to me Reid.”

“So, what’s interesting is that LA’s metro Gold line intersects with the Los Angeles River only in three sections: Chinatown, Union Station and Little Tokyo/Arts District. Chinatown has no houses nearby, Union Station is underground, but Little Tokyo/Arts District is the most likely candidate. It also fits with the geographic profile, because Ms. Trevor was found no more than two miles away from that station. If I draw a line between the spot where she was found, the place where Sarah was killed and that station, and if I take into account different geographic improbabilities-“

“Reid, do you know where she could have been held?” interrupted Agent Prentiss, unable to suppress a grin.

“I think I can tell you the neighborhood, yes.”

Damn, that kid was good.

Excited, the group of people returned to the precinct where the rest of the team except for Chloe and Agent Morgan were waiting. Rossi and Jake were already back, however.

“Well done, everyone,” said Hotch, as soon as they closed the door. “Now, our problem is that we still don’t know which house the women are most likely kept in and we don’t have enough evidence to go in with probable cause. Reid and Garcia were able to limit the number of possible houses within the neighborhood down to five. They were all bought recently, are barely lived in and were, strangely enough, payed in a similar manner as the other house, specifically in cash over a long period of time. Now, unlike the other house, all buyers are real people with a background, so we’re currently trying to narrow down suspects.”

“Exactly,” contined Ms. Garcia, taking that as her cue to talk. “The houses in question are owned by Mark Walden, Simon Prescott, Timothy Creed, Keith Miller, and John Thomas.“

“It could be all five of them,” replied Morningstar, rolling his eyes exasperately.

Everyone looked at him with a puzzled expression.

Agent Hotchner nodded slowly, “Which is why they’re being mentioned.”

“You don’t understand. The most devious of characters usually have the most mundane names: Mark, Simon, Timothy, Keith,” he shuddered. “Beware anyone with the name Keith.”

“Okay,” muttered Agent Rossi slowly and nodded solemnly before he continued, apparently accepting the bizarre man’s statement as fact. “Let’s focus on these men. Garcia. Are any of them single?”

“Two. Keith Miller and Simon Prescott. Their socioeconomic background is very similar except for the fact that Keith Miller is the one with a bit of a shady past. While juvenile records are sealed, he seems to have a problem with authority, and has not been able to hold a steady job for longer than six months.”

“Yet, he bought a house. Do you find any connections between Miller and our other suspects, Garcia?” asked Agent Prentiss.

“Not as far as I can see.”

“That makes sense, though,” interjected Dr. Reid. “We profiled them to be rather cautious.”

“Still, he’s our best bet. What’s the address?” asked Agent Rossi.

“Whoa,” Dan interfered. “Look, I’m… really impressed, and I agree that all of this fits together nicely, but we need hard evidence to nail these bastards down, or they’ll sue us for police harassment.”

“Well, Morgan and Detective Decker stayed behind at the crime scene,” answered Agent Rossi. “I’ll call them to see if they found some hard evidence. If there is anything that connects Keith Miller to that house, we have probable cause.”

“What makes you think that all men went to that house?”

“They abducted three women. That’s a high-risk endeavor that shouldn’t be attempted by fewer than five men,” replied Agent Prentiss. “Difficult to control, especially since the women were abducted independently from each other.”

“ _Yeah, Rossi_ ,” sounded Agent Morgan’s voice through the speaker of the older agent’s phone.

“Did you find anything?” asked the Unit Chief.

“Nah, Hotch, not yet, but forensics cleared the cellar and we’re now investigating it hoping to find some clues. I’ll call you as soon as I know more.”

“Keep me posted,” said Agent Hotchner and his colleague hung up the phone. “Alright, Prentiss, join Reid and Garcia. Let’s make this a legal arrest.”

Just as they were on their way out, Agent Hotchner called Agent Prentiss back, who gave him a short, decisive nod before leaving, too.

“Perfect,” the club owner clapped his hands together with a wide grin. “Now I finally get the chance to work with the silverback and the silver fox. It’ll be a pleasure.”

He looked incredibly enthusiastic, almost childish, compared to the two older men, but other than that, his impeccable dress code matched the typical wardrobe of the two FBI agents perfectly. Agent Rossi snorted, “I thought you’re the devil. Doesn’t that make you older than any of us combined?”

“Sure,” replied the club owner dismissively. “But I tend not to think of it this way. You humans have to grow and mature so quickly. And the two of you? You’re old souls. You because of this job and because of your time in Vietnam,” he nodded to Agent Rossi, “and you were probably mature by the time your younger sibling was born, Agent Hotchner.”

“You’ve studied up on us,” stated Agent Rossi. Dan was more than happy to be the invisible fly on the wall for this conversation.

“On your careers, yes, quite a few people in DC owe me favors that I called in to learn more about you, but I didn’t need their information to know that Agent Hotchner is one of these people that were seemingly born adult. Of course, usually, there is a reason for that, and I doubt it’s any different here,” smiled the club owner gently.

“Mr. Morningstar,” began Agent Hotchner slowly, and briefly nodded to Agent Jareau who had just entered the office with a folder that carried the FBI seal. “Recruitement for the FBI is usually a long, difficult process, but exceptional talents may be hired through alternative channels. However, while every single member of my team has given his or her approval to invite you into our team, there is no way we can make you an FBI agent. First of all, given your beliefs, you will not pass the psych eval.”

Ouch.

Agent Hotchner was a lot of things, but he obviously did not mince his words. Morningstar seemed to appreciate the blunt approach, however, because he did not look insulted or hurt. He simply nodded.

“That being said,” continued Agent Hotchner, “we’d like to have you as an on-call civilian consultant, especially if we have a case that has religious aspects.”

“The Satanic cases, I presume?” asked the club owner.

“No. All of them,” replied Agent Rossi. “Dr. Reid has noticed your top-right shelf that holds every religious texts the world has heard of and then some.”

“Not just a genius, then,” grinned Mr. Morningstar. “Eyes of a hawk, too.”

“Yep, especially when it comes to books,” replied the older FBI agent dryly.

“So, if I understand you correctly, you want to make this civilian consultant routine permanent,” began the club owner slowly. “And you hunt the worst, most deprived souls humanity has to offer. Oh, Agent Hotchner,” he purred. “What a way to propose to a simple devil, but I must ask: don’t you have questions?”

“Oh,” replied Agent Hotchner, that by-now familiar hint of a smile appearing, “I have about a hundred, but every person that has worked with you confirms that you’re an asset and that you could be a great fit for our team. More importantly, they like you.” That comment had Morningstar beam at Agent Jareau who smiled in return. “Dave hasn’t worked with you, but he’s basically the reason why ‘curiosity killed the cat’ is a saying. He wants to poke you.”

“What about you, Agent Hotchner?”

“Anyone who can charm Strauss and manages to convince every member of my highly capable team that they would be a match for the BAU deserves to be asked the question of whether they want to join,” was the honest reply.

“Does this mean I have to move to… Quantico is kind of nowhere, but Washington D.C., perhaps?”

“Please, think about it. We can always just fly you in for very specific cases, or simply call you by TELCON. Garcia would be delighted to set that up for you. You’ve made your home here, and we do not wish to uproot you. Your ties to Los Angeles are obviously deep. Please, think about it, and once this case is over, you may tell us your decision… or ask for more time if necessary. Really, the FBI doesn’t pay well, but JJ has put together a dossier that contains all the official documents concerning civilian consultants.”

“Do civilian consultants get one of these fancy FBI badges?” grinned Morningstar.

“Of course,” replied Agent Hotchner immediately. “Once you pass the security check and background screen.”

“Excellent,” smiled the club owner devilishly. “What about a gun?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” said Agent Rossi. “Morgan told us what you said about forming stars and how easy it must be to handle a gun, you know.”

“Pity,” pouted, yes, pouted the grown-ass man, but his eyes gleamed with mischief. “May I ask-“

But before he could ask the question, there was a knock on the door and Ella entered. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t expect you to still be here.”

“What do you mean, Ms. Lopez?” asked Agent Hotchner, puzzled.

“Well, shortly after you debriefed us on the latest findings, one of my guys found a receipt from a gas station that’s only a few blocks away from that neighborhood. For itself not very suspicious if the house we investigated weren’t almost on the opposite end of the city,” she smiled. “Anyway, Chloe was very satisfied to find some hard evidence. She called our tech team at the precinct to run the visible digits of the credit card we retrieved from the bill and Keith Miller’s credit card was a match.”

“Morgan hasn’t called me back,” frowned Agent Hotchner, and a foreboding feeling overcame Dan. This was not good.

“Oh, he… I think he was in the cellar doing that weird ‘what if I were the creep who did that’ thing muttering to himself as he navigated through the room. I didn’t tell him. I assumed Chloe would,” she was still quite chipper, but frowned just a tiny bit. “To paraphrase Dr. McCoy: I’m a forensic scientist and not a damn carrier pigeon. In Klingon, I would have to say-“ She interrupted herself, because Agent Hotchner gently excused himself and pressed a number on the phone. Dan wondered just how close-knit this team had to be to have each other on speed-dial.

“Morgan? Tell me you have eyes on her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I headcanon Lucifer to speak languages perfectly. I’m fully aware, that, as talented as Tom Ellis is in playing Lucifer, you can hear the English native by his intonation, but it seems bizarre and unlikely for the devil to speak other languages with a foreign accent. So, he always sounds like a native, but using unspecific accents that are difficult to place, although he can change that too at will.  
> \- Also, Emily’s frustration is my own when I’m speaking English… or French… or Italian (that’s as far as my pathetic foreign language skills go, I’m only fluent in German, I can barely speak French or Italian, though I learned the languages in school)  
> \- So, now we’ve reached the meaning of the title. As I said, it’s a convoluted reference to to the line “Soul of a Titan” in the song “You won’t Break Me” by Jonathan Murrill, Tom Ford, Lee Richardson & James Cocozza
> 
> References:  
> https://www.shouselaw.com/engaging_in_prostitution.html  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tartarus  
> https://www.greekmythology.com/Other_Gods/Tartarus/tartarus.html  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cronus
> 
> References regarding the LA Metro system:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6jzoomhMgxI  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Los_Angeles_Metro_Rail_rolling_stock  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7GV_HdnouvA
> 
>  
> 
> Next up: Derek signed up for a lot of things, but not for that. Or: Never ever mess with Lucifer Morningstar.


	10. The Devil Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and the rest of the team have a bit of a revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the reviews!  
> I'll reply to the rest as soon as possible, I thought you might appreciate a new chapter more.
> 
> Warning: Attempted sexual assault (nothing graphic) and homophobic slur ahead.
> 
> EDIT: Brief Season 4 spoiler in the end notes, not so much noticable but present in the story. Apologies to the people I spoiled!

Derek liked Hotch. Not only did he respect the man but he liked him as a person and as the leader of their team.

Did he run a tight ship? Sure.

Was he almost painfully serious at all times? Who would not be with the kind of job they had?

Would Derek handle some things differently? You bet your ass he would.

Nevertheless, at the end of the day, Derek could not imagine a better Unit Chief of the BAU.

All of that being said, Derek had the distinct urge to strangle his boss through the phone.

Did he have eyes on her?

Yes, thank you, would have been nice to know she was taking off and that she did not call for any backup. Fuming, he stepped out of the car, his phone in his hand.

“Yes,” he growled. “We’re one street away from Miller’s house, she’s within my sight, but hurry up with the backup.”

 _“We’ll be there ASAP,”_ promised Hotch, practical as ever.

Derek hung up the phone and followed Detective Decker, cursing under his breath. With quick steps, he caught up with her.

“Detective,” he hissed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“A receipt is not enough for a court order,” she replied, her tone low. “But we need to make sure the women are here.”

“Sure, we do, but coming here all by yourself is dangerous,” he countered sharply, still sore from that case with ambitious Agent Jill Morris whose rash actions had almost killed her. He was quite sure that Detective Decker was more cautious. He knew she had a kid, was used to working with a partner, even if Detective Collins deferred to her more often than not; and she had not taken him with her here, which was unusual and worrying. However, ambition did not seem to drive her motivation. She obviously was not happy working with the FBI, but that could be her being territorial, not because she feared that they would take credit if the case went well. Unlike Espinoza, she seemed to believe that the LAPD could handle this case just fine. That may be true, though help from the BAU certainly did not hurt. It still did not explain why she had come here alone. This spoke of some deep-seated issues when it came to losing control.

“I can handle it. These men need to be stopped.”

It was not just the issue of losing control. She apparently believed that she was the _only_ person who could handle the situation.

“Look, my team is on the way here together with Detectives Espinoza and Collins. These UnSubs thrive for control, and right now, they’re derailing because they bit off more than they can chew. They will not hesitate to kill the women as soon as they realize that we really are onto them,” the Chicaco native explained through gritted teeth.

“Or they will move them yet again, and not only will we find nothing but bodies, but we will have no evidence to arrest these men,” she countered.

“We have DNA evidence. They’re not getting away, Detective.”

“No, they won’t,” she confirmed and then continued to walk toward the house. Cursing under his breath, and unwilling to let her go in by herself, he undid the holster of his gun but did not draw the weapon.

“There are five of them and two of us,” hissed Derek. “Let’s be careful.”

They approached the house and Derek put aside all reservations he had and focused on the job.

“LAPD, Mr. Miller! Open the door,” ordered Detective Decker knocking on the front door. “We would like to talk to you.” Nothing happened. They had no warrant, nothing. This was dangerous. “Mr. Miller?”

“Wrong house, bitch,” sounded a voice from behind them. “Prescott was more than willing to exchange his shitty piece of property with mine. Hands up and turn around slowly.”

Two men were standing there, and they might as well have had ‘Submissive’ written on their foreheads. Miller appeared to talk big game, but his body language screamed insecurity. The other guy, the only one still unidentified from the pack, was almost cagey. Still, they both held weapons, so Derek was careful not to make any sudden movements.

“Any funky business and I’ll blow a hole through you,” threatened Miller and then told them to leave their guns on the ground and to cross the street without making a fuss. They led them into a house where three masked men were waiting for them. Derek took a deep breath. These were predators. One wrong move and they would strike. Considering pack dynamics and the thrill that came with it, anything could happen. Thankfully, they had a specific type and Detective Decker was not it. Derek felt eyes on him though, and stiffened. The cagey guy was checking him out hungrily.

“Go on,” said one of the masked men. “I know you want to grab some ass, faggot.”

The cagey guy flinched and muttered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The masked man rushed forward and pushed the other man to the side, however, before either Decker or Derek could make a move, another gun was pointed at them.

“Come on! Do you think I’m stupid? Think I didn’t realize the way you look at me? You’re useless. Anyway, ever thought about having some nice cop ass? This is your chance.”

Derek felt his own heart rate accelerate. Just today, he had opened that can of worms that was his past with Buford; he would be damned if anyone ever touched him again without consent.

“We know who you are, Fletcher,” threatened Decker and Derek closed his eyes desperately. He knew that she hoped to intimidate them with that, but really, she had just signed her own death warrant. “The police will arrive at any time and they’ll arrest you.”

“I think they’ll be too distracted trying to safe you and the two whores,” said one of the other two masked men. “We’ll long be gone by the time they arrive.”

He was strong; he harshly pushed Detective Decker toward the living room where they probably installed another cellar. Derek was prevented from going after her to help. The yet-unidentified Submissive drew closer, and the FBI agent wanted to hit him square across the jaw, but could not if he did not want to risk being shot instantly. The creep pressed his whole body against Derek and an involuntary shudder shook his entire body in response.

“Oh, you like that?” whispered the creep. “You’re just a whore like the chicks.”

Derek was so revolted that he almost vomited in response. Thankfully, Fletcher knew how short on time they were and pulled the UnSub away sharply, throwing him to the ground.

“He’s mine!” whined the submissive, quickly rose from the ground and ineptly tried to tackle his dominant partner. Derek just knew this would not end well.

“That’s enough!” commanded Fletcher. “I’ve had it with you.” Just like that, he shot him.

Roaring silence followed that before one of the mased men screeched, “What the fuck are you doing, man?!”

“Relax, cousin. Everything is under control.” With that said, he shot Miller as well, causing Ward to flinch and Woods to curse out loud. “I’ve just eliminated any potential leaks. Are you a leak, Sonny boy? Because we’re killing cops now. First these two, then we take care of the bitch who signed Larry’s death warrant, and then we leave.”

Woods looked at him carefully and nodded. He removed the carpet, opened the hatch and told Decker to get in. When she refused, Ward and Woods roughly grabbed her and threw her down. Derek knew better than to resist. Fletcher would just shoot him.

He climed down the ladder where he watched Decker, already bruised and obviously hurting, get up and check in on the two chained women.

Wow, this detective could roll with the punches! It took a lot of willpower to get up after a fall like that and immediately transitioning back into cop mode.

The hatch fell close, so that Derek barely managed to duck his head in time. He cautiously approached the two women, Sandra Wilkins and Clara Harding, introducing himself as an FBI agent.

“They got you, too?” asked Sandra hoarsely, her cheeks flushed and her eyes puffy as if she had cried herself into exhaustion.

“We’re getting out of here,” assured her Detective Decker calmly. She had a limp, but did not seem to be injured. They heard a crash from upstairs and the distinct sound of liquid being poured everywhere, some drips falling through the cracks. The smell was unmistakable.

“They’re setting the house on fire,” breathed Decker, her eyes wide. She grabbed her phone, which, strangely enough, they had not retrieved from either of them, but of course, there was no reception. “They want to burn us alive.”

“No, we’re means to an end,” countered Derek. “A distraction, so they can get away.” He took his radio, which had a better connection than a regular cell and was relieved to hear Hotch on the other end, though the crackle indicated that only part of his message would go through, “Hotch, we’re in Prescott’s house. Miller’s one of the UnSubs. They trapped us and they’re setting the house on fire-“

The roaring sound of a blazing fire and the rumble of smaller explosions nearly deafened him; Sandra and Clara screamed desperately, “We’re alive, but they’re getting away. Hurry!” All he received in return was static and he prayed to God that his message went through.

The detective quickly climbed the ladder and tried to hammer open the hatch, but it was useless as it was locked from the outside.

“Shit!” hissed Decker but still controlled, remarkably calm in the face of danger. Derek approached the two ladies whom the detective had successfully freed.

“Everything’s going to be fine. Help is on the way, ladies,” he began calmly. Panic would not get them anywhere. “These walls are solid. That may sound bad in terms of escape, but it will protect us from the fire for as long as possible. That hatch is made of solid wood, so it will take some time before it burns through.”

Smoke inhalation would be the bigger problem. It really spoke for his younger colleague’s eagerness to share information that Reid’s voice popped up in his head, explaining him about fire consuming the oxygen and releasing carbon monoxide, which was more than a little deadly. It was important to stay calm and to breathe as little air as possible. They could not break through the walls of the cellar. All they could hope for was that Hotch had gotten his message and that the LAFD would arrive on time.

They could hear the fire roar above them, and smoke started to penetrate through the cracks. In order to keep the two traumatized ladies calm, he started questioning them about what happened. Not that talking about abduction and the horror of rape was any more fun, but they were now facing iminent death, and him interviewing them might give them the impression that everything was under control.

To be honest, he used that all too familiar routine to stay calm as well. Detective Decker joined him for the interview and then muttered into his ear that, even if they could open the door, they would be trapped. The fire crackled above them and slowly, the air started to change. His throat hurt and there was this pins-and-needles in his lungs that came from inhaling smoke.

Then he heard something else, a voice perhaps?

“We’re down here!” he shouted, which was immediately echoed by the three women.

The trapdoor opened and closed within the blink of an eye and Derek almost thought that the air was so low on oxygen that he had started to hallucinate, but the body of another man near him told a different story.

It was Lucifer: he had discarded his jacket, but was still dressed in an expensive white shirt and black trousers. He smelled of sulfur and smoke. In the dim light of the cellar, his eyes were so dark they appeared black.

“You cannot leave that way,” said he casually pointing back to the door he had come through. “That fire is hungry and was born from truly malicious intent. It will not stop until the house is down.”

His airways did not sound burned or otherwise injured, even his shirt seemed fine and Derek suddenly felt very, very stupid.

While things were happening with Buford, he had begged God for help; help that never came, so he had decided at the age of fourteen that there was no God. However, working with the BAU, with Gideon and Rossi, both believing in a higher power, a part of Derek had always wondered if having that kind of faith would comfort or devastate him, and if years on the job had taught them something he did not know yet.

Denying the existence of the divine was fruitless in the face of the devil himself, but Derek still was not sure whether that comforted him or shattered his entire world.

Needless to say, Lucifer Morningstar was not the devil from Catholicism, but the older versions that Reid had talked about: the personification of justice, and a fallen angel of Light, almost harsh and cruel in his attempt to pull back a suicidal woman from the brink of death. Derek had witnessed it, yesterday on that balcony, but he had so desperately wanted to believe in an optical illusion.

The Chicago-born FBI agent knew he should probably be afraid, but all he could think of was that playful, flirtatious look that instantly grew serious the second Derek gave the slightest hint of discomfort.

This man-angel-person before him may be quick to anger, but he did not lash out at people.

“Agent Morgan?” Lucifer (yes, _that_ Lucifer) asked softly. “I swear I mean you no harm.”

“Okay,” Derek heard himself reply hoarsely. The coughing fit that followed reminded him that he did not have time to panic. “Okay, how do we get out? Can’t you just… put it out?”

What _the hell_ was he saying?

_‘Hell is real.’_

That thought was almost enough to put him into hysterics, but he was a professional, damn it – ‘ _damn it, ha ha, very funny Derek’ –_ and he would keep it together.

Later.

He would lose it later.

“Yes, but it would kill you,” replied Lucifer casually as if talking about something mundane and boring like the program of some obscure television channel. “Fire is Light and you are Light or-“ he continued, “to explain it in terms of physics: what I would have to do to stop the fire, is deprive the building of oxygen and you would suffocate in the process.”

“How do we get out?”

“I hear water. There’s the river that Ms. Trevor heard,” said he gesturing to the south wall of the cellar. “But there is a tunnel in this direction,” he continued, gesturing toward the opposite wall facing the street. “There’s water there. Sewer perhaps. I could break the wall down.”

If he was just half as effective at breaking down walls as he was at wrecking Derek’s worldview, then they were as good as safe.

Nevertheless, he had to ask, “Look, I don’t know how much you know about construction sites-“

“Nothing, my dear agent, and any sort of advice would be in your best interest.”

How could he sound so chipper? But then, Derek’s trained eyes, the only part of him that was not trembling in a corner somewhere, noticed the hesitation in the club owner’s eyes, as if he were about as fearful of his reaction as Derek was close to hysteria.

And that thought reminded him that the devil owned a club in the City of Angels, but then Lucifer _was_ an angel… Could that be called irony or was he literally living in the one city that should be welcoming him? It obviously had, so that…

“Agent Morgan, tell me what to consider,” prompted him the devil, a slightly urgent edge to his voice. “I know you’re frightened and I know this is a lot to take in, but you’re also suffering from oxygen deprivation and you need some fresh air. Please, help me save you.”

This time, the words managed to get through to Derek.

“Of course,” said he slowly. “Alright, so you see these two beams? If you knock them down or destabilize them, the roof will cave in and bury us under I don’t know how much burning rubble. If you have any control over what you remove, then I would make a hole just barely big enough for us to crawl through, preferably here in the center.”

“Thank you,” replied Morningstar, overtly soft, as if expecting Derek to have a complete meltdown from one moment to another, which, well, was fair enough. He then pulled out coin from his pocket, which looked antique, and now that Derek knew, probably was ancient. The devily sharply snapped his fingers and the coin flew from his hand drilling into the wall. Fascinated, Derek watched as it cut through stone and concrete with frightening ease. Lucifer’s eyes were trained on the coin, but other than that, the only thing of note was an almost hypnotic, caressing movement where he rubbed his thumb against his middle finger. The sound was muffled but it distinctly reminded Derek of the noise a stonecutter made.

“How are the ladies?” asked Lucifer, still very quiet and barely audible over the noise of the burning house and the coin drilling into stone. “I’m afraid I scared Detective Decker quite a bit.”

For the first time since Lucifer revealed himself (could it be called a reveal if the person admitted to it from the beginning?), Derek remembered that he was not alone. He turned only to see the detective armed with what looked like a piece of wood, protectively standing in front of the two women, who – from obvious dehydration, shock and smoke inhalation – barely looked awake. Detective Decker’s pupils were wide and panicked.

“Everything is okay,” soothed her Derek. “He’s here to help us.”

“For what price?!” she asked hysterically.

“The alternative is certain death, detective, and I don’t think he would be willing to bargain with us when the situation is so dire,” said the FBI agent calmly, forcing himself not to think about the alternatives. He knew very little about Lucifer, but not once had Derek witnessed a cruel or sadistic streak, and he was trained to detect such characteristics in psychopaths that were very skilled at hiding their true selfs. In contrast, the club owner was almost painfully honest; he did not have it in him to go back on his word. “Isn’t that the truth?” he could not help but ask.

“Of course, Agent Morgan,” was Lucifer’s reply. He sounded surprised and hurt, and Derek had the sudden urge to reassure him, but before he could do so, a crashing sound from upstairs reminded him of the seriousness of the situation. He could take care of upset devils later. Thankfully, Lucifer seemed to agree, because he called the coin back to his hand and pocketed it. He then put the fingers of his right hand to the center of where he cut, and pushed gently.

It was enough for the wall to give way. From what Derek could see, Lucifer had drilled through the wall of the house into the concrete of the sewer system, revealing an almost circular pathway with a diameter of just a few inches shy of one yard and almost ten feet in length.

“After you,” smiled the devil, which Derek could not help but mirror. He approached the ladies, and helped the two victims get to their feet.

“Let’s go, Detective,” said he, and thankfully, she listened, but her eyes never strayed from Lucifer. Once she led out the women, making sure they did not stumble, Derek leaned back and took a moment to warn Lucifer, “Be careful about Detective Decker. You spooked her and I’m not sure what she’ll do once we’re out.”

For the first time since coming into the cellar, that by now familiar, humorous playfulness gleamed in the club owner’s eyes, “Thank you, Agent Morgan, I appreciate the warning, though I am experienced enough to recognize the pitchfork-and-torches type when I see them. I would have never revealed myself to Detective Decker if the situation weren’t so dire. But pitchforks and torches cannot hurt me.”

Derek chuckled, but it ended in a coughing fit. His eyes were burning.

“Come on,” said the club owner, his eyes concerned. “That air cannot be good for you.” His hand hovered by his shoulder but did not actually touch Derek. Coughing, the FBI agent turned around and patted the taller man-devil-angel’s shoulder before following the women. Derek took a deep breath the moment he stepped into the tunnel; it certainly did not smell like roses and yet, it was a relief to breathe in this damp, smoke-free air. He continued to cough though.

“First way out is a ladder just a few feet in this direction,” sounded Lucifer’s voice behind him. It was eerily dark.

Derek could not see the hand in front his face. He turned only to suddenly face a set of smoldering red eyes. They were terrifying and reflexively, he took a step back. So close to Lucifer, the profiler immediately saw the expression in these red eyes change: from neutral and focused to resigned sadness.

“Hell must be a dark place,” muttered Derek, not knowing what else to say, trying to focus on the fact Lucifer had said that, as of now, he was tagged for Heaven.

“Darker than the center of a black hole and brighter than Sirius,” was the reply, his voice low and quiet. “Louder than the eruption of Krakatoa in 1883 and more silent than any place in the physical universe. It’s a world of extremes, Agent Morgan. It’s not meant to be pleasant or even bearable. Careful, there is a bit of rubble beneath your feet, Detective.”

Carefully, Lucifer navigated them through pitchblack darkness. When they arrived, Derek noticed that the ladder was several feet above ground, and he let out a sigh of despair.

“We’re right below the street,” said Lucifer and jumped, effortlessly swinging himself up the ladder, removing the cover as if it was nothing.

 _“We are here!”_ they heard him shout, before he let go and landed gracefully. Derek helped the women up and then let Lucifer help him. The effort of pulling his body up the ladder was almost too much and a sudden coughing fit at the most inopportune moment almost caused him to fall, but two arms steadied him, and he managed to climb out. Derek gladly grabbed Hotch’s strong, steady arm for that last, agonizing step and he let himself be pulled out.

The house was still aflame, though the fire department was giving their best effort to put it out. To his relief, the entire team was here. They all looked concerned and slightly freaked out. Detectives Collins and Espinoza nearby making sure that Decker was okay. An EMT was checking her out, and the two victims were already in an ambulance.

Another EMT approached Derek, but completely ignored Lucifer, which was odd.

“I’ll be with you in a second,” coughed Derek. “I swear – and I wouldn’t go back on an oath right now, believe me – but there’s something I need to take care of first. Could you give us a moment?”

Reluctantly, the woman stepped away, but remained close by.

“Agent Morgan,” said Lucifer quietly. “You should go with the frankly painfully attractive Emergency Medical Technician, and why hasn’t she tried to examine me? I would not be adverse to her hands on my body.”

Hotch answered.

“Because we didn’t tell her that you walked into a house burning with approximately 866 Kelvin, or 1100 Fahrenheit, according to Reid, which… is impossible without protective gear. You didn’t wear any, so… Reid has given us a list of reasons why you should not have survived stepping into that house. Yet, you are here with the people that were trapped inside and you look utterly unharmed. Unblemished even. You told us the truth from the beginning. We simply refused to listen.”

Derek breathed in the stoic calm that defined his unit chief’s entire being, and for the first time, his heart rate was back to normal.

Everything was fine.

Even if the implications of what he had just learned today were huge. He looked to the rest of the team. Garcia’s eyes were wet and wide with worry, Reid was practically trembling with the urge to talk to Lucifer, though he quickly caught his gaze, looking no less worried for his health than Garcia. JJ’s eyes were wide, and she stood back, standing right next to Emily’s whose mouth was open as if she could not get enough air to her brain to process the undeniable evidence before them.

Rossi’s expression was what managed to break through Derek’s fog of exhaustion and hurting lungs. The man looked utterly shattered. His dark eyes were wide and glistening.

He crossed himself with a trembling hand, _“Dio, mi perdoni.”_

“There is nothing for God to forgive, Agent Rossi,” replied Lucifer. “No soul has ever been damned by association with me. You have my word.”

“Gideon was right,” whispered the FBI agent, as if he had not heard him. “He would always say that evil is a human flaw, not something that is done to us. I always believed in free will and that we dig our own graves when it comes to humanity’s fetish with cruelty, but I always assumed that there is a level beyond that, some evil we cannot reach… That’s incorrect, isn’t it? All that pain our species inflicts on itself. It all comes from us. Blaming you is like blaming a prison guard for the inmates’ deeds before their conviction.”

“I’m sorry, Agent Rossi,” was the regretful answer to that. “I never meant to shatter your world. Be assured that Catholicism isn’t totally wrong, and a truly faithful Catholic is as surely headed for Heaven as a member of any other religion that rejects evil and promotes at least some level of kindness… or an atheist who abides by divine rules not out of fear of punishment or in view of some obscure reward in the afterlife, but because not being an utter wanker seems to be the more desirable option.”

His humor was appreciated. While not entirely managing to distract them from the very real issue at hand – God existed, the devil existed, angels existed and who knew what else – it skillfully took the sting out of everything.

“Detective!” exclaimed Lucifer looking over Derek’s shoulder. “You might want to put the gun away. While it cannot harm me, there are some very fragile human beings standing nearby.”

The BAU whirled around, and Derek reflexively grabbed Reid and Penelope to shield them with his body. Hotch, Rossi, Emily and JJ reached for their guns.

Detective Decker’s eyes were wide, her grip on the gun was tight and sure, and Derek was momentarily terrified hating the fact that he was unarmed. Thankfully, he could count on his team.

Hotch lifted his hands, indicated that he would holster his gun and stepped between Lucifer and Detective Decker.

“Chloe,” said Hotch softly, obviously believing that calling her by her first name would bring her back from the brink. “I know you’re scared. We’re all trying to process what we’ve just learned, but you must put your gun away. Stand down, detective!” His command rang as effectively as his quietly compassionate words had managed to stall her.

“He’s the devil!” she hissed, her gun slightly lowered, but the safety was still off.

“Yes, and the fact he just walked into a burning house tells me that trying to shoot him will not have the effect you desire. All that aside… he’s a civilian and a resident of the city you swore to protect. He hasn’t committed any crime, so if you keep pointing your gun at him, I will make sure you lose your badge.”

The threat worked, because Detective Esponiza came up and effectively talked her into lowering and holstering her gun.

“No crimes?” repeated the Detective Decker disbelievingly. “*Every story of good and bad from throughout history, throughout time, says that he is the embodiment of evil*.”

Now that got a reaction.

Lucifer quickly sidestepped Hotch and stood in front of the detective within the blink of an eye. “I am the devil! Lucifer, the bloody morning star, _gifted_ with the task of ruling Hell,” Derek shuddered in the face of the sheer disdain in the fallen angel’s voice. “Cast from Heaven to become the jailer and torturer of wayward souls; the only judge, jury and executioner of divine justice, though Dad has veto rights, obviously, but I have not seduced any of you into committing a single damning sin since Dad made your fragile, little souls, Detective. He gave you free will,” he continued harshly. “So, suck it up, take responsibility for your own shortcomings and _stop blaming me!_ ”

His eyes flashed red, and Detective Decker scrambled back, almost falling if it were not for Rossi who caught her just in time; his eyes in turn were wide. She was not the only one reacting: Espinoza recoiled and cussed out a ‘ _Santa Madre de Dios_ ’ before crossing himself, JJ also flinched and drew back. Emily’s eyes widened, but she stayed exactly where she was, the grip on her gun tight. Reid and Garcia, who only a partial view on what was happening because he still covered them, both gasped. Their unit chief’s eyes widened and he also took a miniscule step back.

Lucifer deflated quickly, inspecting the ground momentarily before looking up with a smile that could not be less genuine.

“Well, that didn’t go as-“ But then his eyes widened and his head snapped around to face the burning house. “ _Get out of there! Backdraft!”_ His warning was not particularly loud, but it resonated deep in Derek’s chest. His heart hammered against his ribs and his lungs squeezed painfully.

The firemen moved quickly, not daring to question the source of the warning. There was a crackle and a wave of burning hot air came out of the house, inches away from the last fireman exiting the building.

“Oh my God!” exclaimed Penelope, petrified. The wave retracted at lightning speed and the lieutenant of the LAFD ran over to make sure they were fine, while having his men check in one after another.

“Thank the Lord,” he whispered when the last one confirmed their position, and walked out of earshot again, shouting orders to control that ‘thrice-damned’ fire.

“Yeah, sure,” muttered Lucifer under his breath, sounding quite peeved, “ _He_ ’s the one who warned you.”

“How did you know?” asked Reid, speaking for the first time, and Derek knew that tone. It usually resulted in a barrage of questions or a ten-minute lecture listing the reasons why _Doctor Who_ was one of the best shows on television.

Chronologically.

With bullet points.

“Fire is Light and Light is my domain,” repeated Lucifer, and it sounded almost like a mantra. “Light is life and, as such, unpredictable. Nevertheless, I know fire, and it hardly ever catches me by surprise. However, as an excellent movie from the early nineties taught me, you humans are less sensitive to a fire’s fickleness and backdrafts can be quite hazardous.”

“You learned about the dangers of fire via _Backdraft_?” repeated Emily, sounding more than a little amazed.

“Of course not. Dad has made me use fire as punishment for humanity’s missteps on Earth for thousands of years, but I still have a few things to learn about the fragility of your bodies. I’m used to torture souls; they’re not quite as easily broken as a human body.”

“You know what? That’s the most frightening sentence you’ve uttered all evening,” breathed Rossi, clearly swaying between humor and hysteria.

“Don’t worry, Agent Rossi, I’m exquisitely gentle in bed,” grinned the devil. “I know from good authority that, in terms of Dom/Sub play, I’m a much better Sub than a Dom, because I abhor inducing pain in the bedroom even if it is desired… Doesn’t mean they won’t come undone, but they usually say something about having just experienced the sweetest form of sex they’d had in years.”

“Good to know,” deadpanned Rossi, eyes still a little wild, but also distinctly more amused. “So, Derek, what happened between Hotch calling you and… now?”

Reality hit him like a ton of bricks.

“Lieutenant Monroe,” he gasped. “She’s in danger. God, Hotch, I’m sorry. I forgot. The UnSubs… Fletcher killed the two Submissive partners, but he left the house with Woods and Ward, intent on murdering her. I can’t believe I-“

“Morgan,” interrupted Hotch quietly. “Given the circumstances, that is completely understandable. I’ll call her.” That being said, he pulled the phone from his pocket, but paused when Lucifer spoke up.

“Not necessary, Agent Hotchner. Lieutenant Monroe is as safe as she could ever be.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she’s here with Maze right beside her.” Derek walked up to the club owner’s side so that he could look in the same direction.

There was nothing.

“Where?”

“Hm?” uttered a distracted devil. “Oh, on other side of the house.”

Unsurprisingly, he was true to his word, because Derek would recognize Lieutenant Monroe’s confident gait anywhere. Right beside him was Mazikeen Smith, looking more than ever like a predator.

“If you’re the devil, she’s…” he did not complete the sentence, wanting to hear it from Lucifer.

“A demon, yes,” replied Lucifer casually. “But don’t worry. They don’t possess the living, and can only take the bodies of the recently deceased, a practice I banned thousands of years ago. Always such a mess. Exorcisms are nothing but ways to torture people with mental disorders into supposed normality. My demons are dutiful and very focused on their respective tasks in Hell. Maze is the second in command, and here only because she has sworn to protect me until the end of time. However, she quickly realized that Earth doesn’t really pose a threat to the devil and has now struck out on her own. Lieutenant Monroe, I hope you are well,” he smoothly addressed the competent head of the homicide department, who had walked up to them in the meantime, Larry Ward’s dogs flanking her. They dutifully sat down once she stopped.

“Yes, I am, Mr. Morningstar, thanks to the BAU’s foresight and Ms. Smith’ frankly impressive skillset.”

“Oh, I hope they’re still in one piece,” grinned Lucifer, his eyes on Ms. Smith whose expression was cold and hard to read.

“Of course,” the demon replied. “They deserve to be _punished_.” Something about the way she said that caused Derek to run a shiver down his spine.

“Don’t worry,” said the lieutenant. “They’re as good as on death row.”

Ms. Smith did not react; her eyes still trained on her… whatever Lucifer was to her.

“They will be,” was all he said, his eyes gleaming dangerously. “I look forward to meeting them.”

“Well, not tonight,” said the lieutenant firmly. “From what my men have told me, you all need to go home and rest. Some of you with medical attention and a shower first. The BAU is more than welcome to question the three men tomorrow morning.”

“We’re looking forward to it,” replied Hotch with a respectful nod, obviously agreeing with her or he would have protested.

The lieutenant then gave her attention to Detective Decker, “I trust you’re unharmed. Next time you have a crucial lead, you will communicate with your department or you will lose your badge.” Into the silence that followed, she tore into Detective Espinoza, “And if you cover for her again, you’ll be suspended, demoted and possibly fired. It’s through my lenience that I allowed you two to stay in the same department after you married. Don’t think for a second that my patience is endless. Have I made myself clear?”

“Perfectly, Lieutenant,” replied Detective Espinoza meekly. Detective Decker simply nodded curtly.

“Decker?” the steel in her voice was unmistakable.

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied dutifully.

“You better remember. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a stack of paperwork to finish, but Ms. Smith insisted on coming here. Ms. Smith, please come to precinct tomorrow; there was no bounty on these men’s heads, but we are more than willing to point you in the right direction. I’m also setting up the paper work for you as a martial arts instructor. Hours are reasonable and the pay is remarkably good. That is if you’re still interested.”

“Ah, Maze,” smiled Lucifer, utterly delighted. “Congratulations! That sounds like a perfect opportunity for you.”

The lady’s lips twitched and she confirmed her interest to the lieutenant, who nodded sharply and then ordered her detectives to have themselves cleared by EMTs and to go home for the night. Shortly after, she walked away, the two dogs flanking her protectively. The detectives followed her strict command without question but not before Detective Decker gave Lucifer and Mazikeen a suspicious onceover. Detective Espinoza did not look particularly happy either. Detective Collins who had spent most of his time coordinating the scene, mostly looked worried.

“Well done,” said Lucifer quietly with a serenity that resonated. “Thank you.”

Her eyes briefly took in all the people in vicinity before narrowing her eyes at Lucifer, “I leave you out of my sight for one minute and-“

“Relax, Maze, I was out of your sight for a total of two months, one week and four days, give or take a few hours. I’m better at keeping my identity secret than you’re implying,” he teased her playfully.

“Well, _they_ have no intention of harming you, but what if-” she began sharply, but was interrupted.

“They _cannot_ harm me, and most haven’t made an attempt in that direction.”

That did not have the effect he intended: all of a sudden, two wickedly sharp knives were out, “Who threatened you?”

A firm hand was on her arm, “Mazikeen, I cannot let you harm an innocent. Not because I used to rule Hell and was, by definition, your lord – after all, I very much appreciate this new _mutual friendship based on equality_ type of relationship we’re currently trying out – but because doing so would both condemn you and unjustly hurt a human soul.”

Her knives disappeared, though it was hard to tell where she put them.

That was probably the point.

“Now, to more tentalizing news.” It was truly amazing that these abrupt changes between playfulness, seriousness and pure wrath did not cause anyone whiplash. With a wide grin, the devil continued, “When were you going to tell me? I mean, I knew there was mutual desire, but I was unaware you two already indulged. Good on you, Maze. She’s a ray of Light and a worthy companion for my oldest and most trusted friend.”

That obviously took her aback, “How did you-“

“Oh, well, she told me of the importance of openly voicing my feelings to the people in my life, and far be it from me to question her knowledge on interpersonal relationships,” he answered casually.

“No, I mean, how…”

“There’s no such thing a soulmates,” he replied. “The whole ‘one person bound to the other for all of eternity’ principle… I’m surprised how such a truly horrific idea would be so universely desired these days. However, if two souls are compatible for more than a brief mating, I usually see that. Doesn’t mean I believe in monogamy all of a sudden, but sometimes the Light just matches very well. Specifically, two souls that fit together play in harmony, so to speak.” He was quiet for a moment, “Like that movie _Happy Feet._ The execution is flawed, but the basic ideas are based on reality.”

“I don’t have a soul, Lucifer,” she protested harshly.

“You have a brain,” the devil countered no less firmly. “You have a heart. You have passion. You have dreams and wishes and desires. You enjoy some things more than others. I don’t care what you insist on calling it. It may not be the Light as bestowed by Dad, but Hell’s fires burn cold and long and as intensely as any human soul. The drums of you inner fire beat in perfect harmony with Dr. Linda’s Light that hums as clear as a bell.” He paused for a moment to switch gears. “It’s not like either of you need my approval, but you have it.”

Mazikeen visibly relaxed at that before she grinned, “So, we have the devil’s blessing?”

“A whole lot of good that will do,” muttered Lucifer huffily. “But why not? You two come by Lux and I will give you my blessing.”

“So,” began Reid, and Derek knew him well enough to know what was coming. “There are at least three species capable of rational speech gathered around here, in this moment: a demon, an angel and multiple humans. Are demons immortal? Are angels? Do you age? How does that work? Were you born into adulthood or were you fully grown? How did you come to be? Are these your actual bodies? Do all angels look like humans? Do all demons look like humans? Are we made in the image of angels? Do angels have wings? Phylogenetically, how are angels and demons even ordered? Is God an angel? Are you multicellular eukaryotes? Do you even have cells? Do you bleed? If yes, what is the consistency of your blood? Or Mazikeen’s? According to everyting you’ve told us, you made the stars. How did you do that? Did you look as you do now?”

“Reid-“ Hotch said softly, but Reid plowed on, vibrating with curiosity.

“Does evolution exist or is it all intelligent design as proposed by multiple religious groups? Is Earth the only planet with intelligent life? How do you travel across the universe? What does the expansion of the universe mean for this kind of travel? How does time play into that? Is there such a thing as fate or can we choose our own paths, or is it Oedipus’ story over and over again? Speaking of, did Oedipus exist? Are any of these old stories true? Are all of them true? What-“

“Reid!” Hotch interrupted again, firmly but with infinite fondness, “Give him a chance to answer before you ask the next question.”

Lucifer’s eyes mirrored the gentle affection the rest of the team felt for Reid, “Short answers, because I do believe you all need a moment to rest. ‘ _Are demons immortal?’_ Yes, but they are vulnerable, too. _‘Are angels?’_ Yes. Do we age? No. ‘ _How does that work?’_ We are celestial beings and our _genetic_ makeup is infinitely different from yours. ‘ _Were you born into adulthood or were you fully grown?’_   We were born and raised, but not as humans are. ‘ _How did you come to be?’_ Mum and Dad had sex, they made the universe, and the energy it set free was stored within Mum and she brought us into the universe one after another.” Now that was not like what Derek had learned at Sunday school. “ _’Are these your actual bodies?_ ’ Mazikeen wears glamour to look more human, but she’s just as beautiful in her demon form. She simply looks more badass. I have more than one form so that I can always walk among Dad’s creations as one of them. But then I also have the form I was born with. It _changed_.” The bitterness and selfloathing in Lucifer’s voice was worrying, and Derek filed it away for later examination when he was not coughing his lungs out. The sting in his chest reminded him that Lieutenant Monroe was right; he needed to go and be checked out by professionals. “‘ _Do all angels look like humans?_ ’ Not all but most, for the reasons as stated above. ‘ _Do all demons look like humans?’_ No. ‘ _Are we made in the image of angels?’_ No. ‘ _Do angels have wings?’_ Yes, they do. _‘Phylogenetically, how are angels and demons even ordered?’_ I honestly couldn’t tell you, but if anyone does it’s Jophiel. Her domain in science. She’ll know. _‘Is God an angel?_ ’ He’s a major prick and definitely passed this down onto his children, but no, he’s not an angel. _‘Are you multicellular eukaryotes?’_ I am Light, young one, I don’t think my cellular composition is in any way similar to yours. _‘Do you even have cells? Do you bleed? If yes, what is the consistency of your blood? Or Mazikeens?’_ Yes and no. Not really, so couldn’t say, and Mazikeen’s anatomy is for her to explain not me. _‘According to everyting you’ve told us, you made the stars. How did you do that? Did you look as you do now?’_ Now that will take more time than we have. Agent Morgan needs a doctor. But let me tell you that, yes, evolution exsists, there is no outside force driving it, which is why my money was on you humans turning into a water creature, because that’s what most of the Earth is covered in, but no, your ancestors wished to conquer the land. Intelligent Design is a hilarious hypothesis and largely incorrect. Dad made souls, not bodies. Adam and Eve are the first human souls, not the first humans. _‘Is Earth the only planet with intelligent life?’_ I can neither confirm nor deny. Ha! I always wanted to say that. _‘How do you travel across the universe? What does the expansion of the universe mean?’_ I love physics and astronomy and I do not wish to answer that in one sentence. _‘Is there such a thing as fate or can we choose our own paths, or is it Oedipus’ story over and over again?_ ’ Dad gave you free will. What you do with your lives is up to you. Oedipus is a special case. Poor chap. For angels, our lives are less autonomous and divine interference is very common.”

His answers were as quick as Reid had asked the questions. How he managed to remember each and every single one of them was quite a mystery, because Reid tended to blend questions, and Derek could not have remembered a quarter of them, and he had worked with the Kid for years now.

Reid hung onto every word, his eyes were wide and as bright as a child’s on Christmas morning, “So-“

“Reid,” Rossi interrupted. “I’m sure he’ll still be here tomorrow. He might not need to breathe, but I certainly do, and Morgan needs medical attention.”

That did the trick. Worried eyes were on him and Derek rolled his eyes, which was slightly undercut by the fact that his attempted sigh ended in a coughing fit.

“That’s our cue,” said Hotch. “Come on, Morgan, let ‘s have you checked out. Mr. Morningstar, I don’t even know-“

“I absolutely understand, Agent Hotchner. Take your time. I have it from good authority that the shock can set in later. Even with avid preparation, the news are hard to take. I’ll be at my club in the morning. Let me know if you want me at the precinct. If not, I’ll stay away. Have a good evening, my dear FBI agents, and sleep well. I hope no nightmares will find you tonight. If they do, remember: they’re just dreams and the easiest way to avoid them is to come back to the Light.” With the hint of a smile, he turned around and left, a silent Mazikeen in tow.

There was understanding and kindness in his expression. On the other hand, she was not too impressed with BAU; that glare spoke volumes.

“No, Mr.-Lucifer,” Hotch corrected himself, remembering his preferences. “ _’Thank you,’_ is what I wanted to say for saving Agent Morgan’s life and the lives of Detective Decker, Mrs. Wilkins and Ms. Harding. You are more than welcome to join us for the interrogation at the precinct tomorrow. To me, it isn’t the fact that you’re who you are… It’s… what you being the devil implies. It’s, well, what Dr. Reid commented on and then some. There are some profound questions that any human wants to know, and it’s a bit as if we just discovered a book with a trillion words in the glossary answering all of them. And suddenly it’s hard to say which questions have priority, especially given that the book is a living being with its own needs and desires and using it as a simple source of information is morally wrong. We will see you tomorrow, hopefully calmer and a little less dazzled.”

Whatever Lucifer had expected, this reaction was not it and, with what Derek could not help but assume was a typical reaction for the fallen angel, he grinned to dispel the tension, and wished them all a good night as he turned around with enviable grace and a playful lightness to his step.

They could hear how he addressed Maze, “You know, in view of taking yet another step in our equal-friendship arrangment, I must insist on a very human tradition.“

“And what is that?“

“Ms. Garcia, wouldn‘t you say that friends have hugging privileges?“

As if having waited for permission, two arms wrapped around Derek sideways and she babbled into Derek‘s side, “Oh, absolutey. Hugging privileges are absolutely crucial to upholding friendships.“ Not having realized just how much he needed it, Derek relaxed for the first time since Detective Decker‘s poor decision, and wrapped his arms around that ball of greatness that was Garcia.

“See?” Lucifer’s grinned. “And these two are true professionals in terms of friendship! They should know.”

Mazikeen - he refused to call her Ms. Smith now that he was sure it was a meaningless add-on - shook her head fondly and her arms tentatively but quickly snuck around his waist. His arms hesitated.

“I swear if you hug me as you would an angel I will use my free hand to stab you,” she warned harshly but fondly. He chuckled and threw his armed around her shoulder, which he used to draw the top of her head close enough to gently kiss it.

The frankly adorable sight was interrupted by the chief of the fire department unit cursing about unpredictable fires that did not know when to stop.

“Do you want to save the house?” asked Lucifer disbelievingly. “It only caused pain and suffering.”

“Hell, no,” replied the man, and Derek had the urge to giggle at the man’s turn of phrase. “But we must avoid a spread.”

“I see. All of your men are out of range, correct?”

“Yes,” answered the firefighter slowly.

“Good. You might want to gather on the south-side of the building, there will be the last flames to tame.”

Doubtfully, the lieutenant looked at Lucifer, but he did not question him. Instead, he gathered all of his men as advised. The club owner then turned to look at them and waved goodbye with a mischievous grin. And just like that, the house was ablaze. The flickering, reddish flames of the house illuminated Lucifer’s grin, his eyes red, and Mazikeen’s expression echoed his obvious glee. The flames went high up and were gone within the blink of an eye, too fast to be natural.

“Okay,” said Rossi slowly. “So that’s where the term ‘diabolical smile’ comes from.”

“Did you see his eyes?” whispered Garcia. “Or was it a trick of the light?”

Derek opened his mouth, but all that came out was a wheezing cough, which led to Hotch saying, “That’s it. Everyone, I… Let’s regroup. None of you should stay in a room alone tonight. I’m sure there are lots of things to discuss, but I would suggest you limit yourself to the absolute minimum tonight. David, we already share a room. JJ, Prentiss, Garcia, you might want to bunk in one hotel room tonight. Reid, Morgan, you stick together if possible. Medic!”

Out of nowhere, the EMT from earlier appeared. She had obviously waited for her cue, “Check his lungs, admit him to a hospital if necessary. Morgan, keep me posted. We’ll meet tomorrow in the lobby at seven. We’ll eat breakfast together. There are… some things that must be discussed, including a full report of what happened in that house, Morgan.”

Ninety minutes later, Derek and Reid entered their hotel room. The EMTs had checked him out, given him some extra oxygen, but he was not admitted to a hospital. They handed them a strict checklist with warning signs that would require immediate medical attention. Reid was worried and rather quiet, lost in that big head of his, so they barely spoke about anything that happened today.

“I’m calling dibs on the shower,” said Derek the second he closed the door, smelling like the inside of a chimney.

“Oh yes,” answered Reid slyly. “I insist.”

When exactly had the Kid aquired a sense of humor?

He entered the bathroom, stripped down and stepped into the shower. At first, everything was fine, and the warm water managed to clean him inside and out, but then this whole, awful evening crashed down on him. He just barely managed to suppress a sob when the memory of that disgusting body rubbing against him made his skin crawl – he did not even know the man’s full name. He shuddered, and years of being able to shower with a group of kids right after Buford had put his hands on him without losing it were the only thing that prevented him from crying his heart out. As always, he let the spray of water wash away the tears. Interestingly, it was the memory of Lucifer’s sudden appearance that was his anchor. However, the thought led to all these implications that Hotch alluded to.

The devil was real and he was a really good person.

God existed.

God had ignored the prayers of a thirteen-year-old.

Was that priest right?

Had God tested him?

Did God even care for one meager human soul?

If not, then why even try to live up to the expectations of some cruel God that did not give a damn?

But then, Lucifer lived by his father’s rules, it seemed; in fact, he was the enforcer of celestial justice, though it had obviously upset him quite a bit.

His thoughts twisting and turning in his head, he left the shower, got dressed and entered the bedroom. Reid sat on his bed scribbling notes.

“What are you doing?”

“Writing down questions,” replied the genius. “I don’t want to risk forgetting a single one of them. I decided to divide them into categories: religion, history, physics, astronomy, literature, music, but then I have questions about literary history and I don’t know where to put it. Also, religion… I started, but then realized that my focus was very Christianity-based, and then I remembered that Emily mentioned the Gods from Greek mythology, and I don’t know how to categorize that, but- What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” countered Derek, grabbing one of the empty pieces of paper on Reid’s bed. “You’re not the only one with questions. Ten questions in ten minutes and then we copy them all down into a notebook. In half an hour, I’m turning the lights off, because I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Direct Quote*:  
> From Season 4, full quote: “[…]! You are the… actual devil. I mean… every story of good and bad from throughout history, throughout time, says that you are the embodiment of evil. And how am I, Chloe Decker, a nobody… supposed to deal with that? But… But then…. Then I came back. And… And I saw you. I really saw you. And I remembered how ou made me feel. And I realized, Lucifer, you’re not that guy.”
> 
> Before you flog me for Chloe’s reaction, let me explain my reasoning:  
> Chloe was willing to poison and send Lucifer straight back to hell after knowing him for three years, after falling in love with him (or not; the show kind of retrospectively made their partnership into a love story that was supposed to go on for the entirety of the show, but was not part of the concept in season 1 up until mid-season 2)… Anyway, my point is, according to the show’s inconsistent lore, she’s supposed to be in love with him, but still was willing to kill him and ban him to Hell. Season 1 Chloe shot him in the leg (upon request, sure, but she pointed the gun at him the second she saw the hint of his devilish nature), when she already worked with him. This Chloe Decker doesn’t know Lucifer. She doesn’t like Lucifer. And she likes to shoot people. She actually says so in the show. So, there you go. I hope you agree that this reaction in this AU, is actually in character.
> 
> References:  
> • https://fireco.uk/the-killing-fumes-why-smoke-is-more-deadly-than-fire/  
> • https://www.quora.com/What-is-the-loudest-sound-in-the-universe  
> • https://skysaver.com/blog/hot-can-fire-get-skysaver-rescue-backpacks/?v=7516fd43adaa
> 
>  
> 
> Next up (short chapter): Chloe's thoughts in the aftermath of the fire are a whirlwind.


	11. Hell Swallows Me Whole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe tries to come to terms with what she witnessed today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick update as you can see. I cannot guarantee another update this Saturday, because my evenings will be kind of busy this week. Good news: I'll be off work for two weeks starting Friday, so I hope to finish this story soon.

After the EMT finally patched her up and cleared her, Jake was kind enough to drive her home.

He did not know. He was clueless and part of her wanted to warn him and his family, but another part of her feared he might not believe her or that something would happen to him if she told him. Thankfully, Dan had picked up Trixie from school in the meantime, and when she entered the safety of her home, her daughter was already getting ready for bed.

“Mom!” shouted Trixie with a wide grin. Wrapping her arms around her daughter, Chloe could breathe for the first time since she approached what was supposed to be Miller’s house with Agent Morgan.

“Were you hurt?” Her brave little girl looked at her worriedly, and Chloe had a hard time not just breaking into tears.

“I’m fine, baby. Let me read you a bedtime story. It’s time for bed.”

“Yes!” she exclaimed happily. “I want you to read _Red Litte Monster_.”

It should not have surprised Chloe. Trixie loved monster stories, especially Red Little Monster, a story about a monster that was too cute and too nice to be accepted by the other monsters. As a consequence, the poor monster was all alone until it made new friends that accepted it for the Red Little Monster it was. Normally, Chloe would have loved telling her that story, but tonight, she wanted to keep her daughter as far away from monsters as possible, imaginary or otherwise. After a brief discussion, she managed to convince Trixie that the Panda book her _abuela_ had given her on her seventh birthday was the better choice.

Thanfully, she loved the story; three rereads and thirty minutes later, the most important person in her life was breathing evenly and deeply, already in a world of dreams without devil eyes haunting her. Chloe watched her quietly for another ten minutes until she quietly snuck out of the room.

Dan was in the kitchen, preparing tea. He knew her too well. Despite all their problems in recent months, she was so grateful for his presence.

“What happened down there, Chloe?” asked her husband the moment she sat down.

“You first. I want to retrace every single one of his steps.”

He told her about their weird but fruitful interview with Carol Trevor, how the FBI gave official offer to Morningstar – was that name even real? He was the _devil_ , so much for not lying – and then how they found out about Chloe checking out the lead. Agent Hotchner had immediately drummed everyone together, but the drive from the precinct to the house had taken an hour even with lights flashing and the siren on. They took three cars, cramming in the entire team. Agent Rossi had made sure that the technical analyst really wanted to go into the field, which led to a firm explanation that she would stay behind in the car if ordered, but that she had spent too many times hearing over the radio just how much danger her team put themselves in, and that she refused to do so this time. Morningstar had ridden in the first car together with Hotchner, Rossi and Garcia. Dan and Jake had taken the rearend. By the time they arrived, the house was already ablaze and Jake’s attention had been on the phone calling ambulances and the LAFD. This was the reason he completely missed how Morningstar ridded himself off his jacket and directly stepped into the fire. For one brief second, before the fire swallowed him, his skin appeared unnaturaly red and burned. Reddish skin replaced the well-groomed, dark hair.

It was just a second, too fast to be sure, but Dan’s brain had kind of fried in the process. He looked over to where Agent Hotchner was standing, appearing as stunned and unbalanced as Dan had ever seen him.

“Then Dr. Reid started giving us statistics on housefires in that rapid-fire speed of his, and how there was no way a human being could ever survive that, which meant that they had just observed irrefutable proof regarding the existence of the divine, and that there was at least some truth to Jewish, Christian and Muslim belief, which was when Agent Prentiss remembered Morningstar’s comments about Greek Mythology, which meant that there had to be some truth to that as well. Apart from that, they were being professionals, feverishly trying to establish contact with you, and they were very anxious, especially Ms. Garcia, whom Agent Jareau briefly had to lead away from the scene to calm down. We were all kind of stunned, but we barely had time to discuss the meaning of what we’d just observed. Well, Ms. Garcia mentioned that the reddish skin reminded her of burn scars and that these had to hurt. That, in turn, horrified Dr. Reid who remembered word for word the brief conversation about Satan’s Fall from Heaven in said devil’s apartment…” He paused, shrugging helplessly. “What happened down there?”

“The same thing you did, but for more than a glimpse and close up,” Chloe whispered, the images burned into the inside of her skull. “His skin is blood-red and his eyes… his eyes are what Hellfire must look like. Hell exists, Dan,” she breathed. “What do we do? The devil walks the Earth in the guise of some shady club owner and he came to Los Angels where he knew he could go unnoticed, because, really, this is LA. There are so many weird people living here, most of them working in Hollywood. He knew nobody would take him seriously. It’s a brilliant plan.”

“Yeah, so what did he do? Did he hurt you?”

“I… No, he got us out. I don’t know what he did exactly. I know he used some coin or medallion and drilled a hole into the wall so we could escape through the sewer. The rest you know.”

“So… he didn’t hurt you. Perhaps the BAU is right, and Morningstar is true to his word when he says that the devil isn’t evil. I mean, he saved your life, which kind of makes him okay in my book,” smiled Dan earnestly. “Not that I like the arrogant bastard, but you know, he’s not a monster.”

“Don’t you see?!” she hissed, but lowered her voice instantly, because she did not want to wake up Trixie. “That’s all part of his plan. His eyes? Did you see his eyes?”

“Yes, I did, and they’re a sight to see, but given the imagery I grew up with? Almost disappointing. I hate to say it, but Morningstar, while obviously more powerful than your average human, is essentially harmless. He deferred to the professionals, so he’s not too prideful to think he knows everything. He’s remarkably quiet around victims and manages to comfort them; I don’t understand how, but it worked like a charm with Ms. Trevor.”

“How can you say that?” she stared at him in disbelief. Dan had grown up in a very religious home.

Maria Espinoza had not been too impressed with her son marrying a staunch atheist. Why was she more worried about this than he was? He should be the one losing it. “The devil is known as the Deceiver, the Father of all Lies.”

“I know that people say that. I’ve attended more sermons than you after all…” Dan shrugged his shoulders. “However, Morningstar seems to be rather incapable of lying. Let’s face it, Chloe, a true deceiver would have never called himself the devil, and by doing so letting everyone think he’s crazy and then make a 180-turn and reveal that he was speaking the truth. There’s no logic behind that.”

“Or it’s all part of a bigger plan,” she argued. “What if he wants to create the Antichrist?”

To her horror, he just laughed, “Then he has a city of willing, happy vessels to choose from. Come on, you’ve seen how women, and guys, react to him. He could probably proclaim at the top of his lungs that he wanted to father the Antichrist, and people would still line up for a taste.”

“Perhaps, he needs a specific person for that or specific circumstances,” she hypothesized.

“I doubt that someone who can walk into a burning building without as much as a scratch needs a specific planet lineup to do anything, Chloe,” said Dan softly.

“You don’t know,” she countered.

“No, I don’t, but then who does? We’re cops. We’re not qualified to answer any of these questions. He has a team of FBI profilers stumped. Do you really think that the two of us can figure him out when they can’t?” He shook his head. “Come on, let’s get some rest. You have wounds that need healing. Tomorrow, we’ll be nailing some very human monsters and that’s what we were trained for. Let’s leave the supernatural bullshit to Buffy and the Halliwell sisters.”

She tried, but could not force herself to answer that smile.

“You go ahead,” she said quietly. “I need a few more moments.”

“Yeah,” he replied squeezing her shoulder gently. “Do that. I’ll go to bed.” He kissed her cheek. “Good night, Chloe.”

Once he left the kitchen, she grabbed her computer, got herself a notebook and started with her research. She read the Wikipedia page on Satan and made a note of all the references. From the bookshelf, she retrieved the bible that Daniel had received from his grandmother when they got married.

She ignored the websites on Satanism, because from what she learned, most were atheist groups and simply stood against the principle of a God.

The rest were lunatics.

She found so many names for the devil:

Son of the Morning.

Beelzebub.

Satan.

Belial.

Abbadon.

Samael.

Lucifer.

Evil Incarnate.

Mephistopheles.

Prince of Darkness.

Lord of Hell.

Father of Lies.

The Deceiver.

The Adversary.

The Enemy.

The Serpent.

The more she read, the more terrifying it became. She could not trust a word he had said.

Granted, Judaism had a slightly different take on the topic. In the Book of Job, Satan worked against humans but with the permission and in the name of God. However, the Lucifer Morningstar she had met clearly hated his supposed father. The devil she knew would never ask for God’s permission.

Moreover, she could not forget that he was the Great Deceiver.

He claimed to have been tasked by God to rule Hell, but she had to assume that nothing he said could be trusted.

Interestingly, she saw parallels between Kabbalistic texts and Dante’s Inferno regarding the idea of Hell and Satan, both describing a world of demons and a realm that was the opposite of Heaven. While she could not trust a word Morningstar said, it was obvious that Mazikeen Smith was a demon, which spoke for the existence of something more than what the Book of Job implied. Interestingly, Kabbalistic texts associated this Satanic realm with femininity and an excess of judgment. While that principle really angered her, on her daughter’s behalf and the behalf of any young woman, she had noticed distinct, feminine vibes about Morningstar, and she knew that he was overtly judgmental; he had practically confessed to that.

Given how he openly proclaimed his disdain for God, it was possible that Satan could bring about the End of Days following a final confrontation between Good and Evil, God and the Devil.

However, the idea of Iblis, the devil from the Qu’ran, seemed to be a better fit for the Lucifer Morningstar she had met: not powerful enough to be a true adversary of God but the servant that was banished for refusing to bow down to humanity even when God asked him to; now that arrogance sounded like him. What spoke against that theory was that Sufism further extended on that angle by saying that Iblis refused to bow down to Adam because his devotion was reserved for God alone.

That level of devotion and love did not sound like Morningstar at all.

Adversary of God was a better fit for sure.

And, of course, Catholicism offered the most detailed texts on the devil as the Adversary. Naturally, there were other other Christian branches and even other religious groups that saw Satan as the Deceiver or that believed in the existence of personified devil, but the Roman Catholic Church was the largest Christian church on Earth and they had believed in the devil’s existence for centuries with a longstanding history of actively fighting against him. Not only that, but when it came to fighting crime, Chloe had learned that hierarchical structures were the most effective, and the Catholic church was just that.

Morningstar had even actively tried to influence her in the opposite direction by speaking out against exorcism. He had taken a considerable amount of effort trying to cheat them into believing that exorcism was nothing but a form of torture and that demons did not possess living humans. As much as Morningstar was in love with his own voice, that stream of words on the subject had been suspiciously excessive. This had to be a distraction. Even if it was true that demons could not possess humans – which she doubted – Chloe could not discount the possibility that he had taken over some poor man’s body to walk on Earth as one of them.

It was all too easy to imagine.

There had been these moments, very brief moments, when all she could see in these dark eyes was agony and sadness, these glimpses of pure emotion… the devil could not hope to fake that level of humanity. Therefore, it was possible that Satan let the man, whose life he had stolen, shine through his eyes, just long enough to imitate compassion and goodness, to express more than just gleeful cruelty and harsh wrath.

She could only imagine the horrors this human had to live through every single day.

He had to be saved, but first, she had to make sure.

Now that she had her theory, she needed confirmation from a professional. She started googling for priests in the city. The sheer number astounded her, and it made her realize that, if any of them had an inkling, they would do their best to let the city know. Therefore, she narrowed down her search looking for keywords such as “ _priest AND Los Angeles AND Lucifer Morningstar_ ” and related searches. There were far too many articles to skim through, and she decided to look up the current archbishop of the region, the so-called Archdiocese of Los Angeles.

She was quite horrified to find an article with the title ‘ _Only in LA: The Archbishop Shakes the Devil’s Hands_ ’ and instantly clicked on it.

_‘The list of ‘things that only happen in LA’ has one more anecdote._

_Archbishop Cortez has met with a few members of LA’s elite, and that included shaking hands with Lucifer Morningstar, the club owner of one of LA’s most exclusive clubs: Lux._

_In this photo, you can see Archbishop Adriano Matteo Cortez (left) casually greeting Lucifer Morningstar (right) whose rapid-fire Spanish delighted the uncommonly young archbishop (36) who had replaced Archbishop Simon Walters. The former archbishop stepped down from his post two months ago following a wave of allegations concerning sexual misconduct with minors-_  

She stopped reading quite abruptly… It looked like the archbishop was not an option. He was obviously in bed with him, quite literally, if Morningstar’s lecherous grin and Cortez’ expression of pure adoration was anything to go by.

She continued to search for allies, and found a website called ‘ _Opposing the Adversary’_ , headed by a street preacher called Jacob Williams _.’_ It appeared to consist of a heterogeneous group of people who believed that Lucifer Morningstar’s presence at Lux was one of the first signs of Judgment Day. Williams regularly organized protests against the club, but Chloe quickly decided that he was not someone to confide in or to work with as an informant or an ally. He was too erratic.

“Come on! There must be someone who isn’t completely nuts,” she muttered and then exclaimed, “Oh!”

The website was not nearly as flashy as _Opposing the Adversary_. It was a blog from a priest, Father Ralph Simmons, whose parish was located near Lux. She clicked the link and started to read the two flagged messages, one from about four years ago, another from a few months ago. She read the old one first: 

_I must admit that when I first heard that Satan was opening a nightclub in Los Angeles, not to mention only a few blocks away from my church, I was equal parts amused and horrified. Amused because, well, LA requires you to be quite flexible when it comes to staying true to the teachings of the Catholic Church, and horrified because I was wondering who in their right mind would call themselves Lucifer Morningstar owning a club named Lux. This was almost too sacrilegious to bear, but never, not for a second did I believe that this was in any way true. The devil would surely not be so obvious and reveal himself to the world._

_However, I learned that today’s world was all too willing to let Satan walk in their midst._

_I knew it the second I saw him._

_Before you say I was biased, be assured that, at the time, I did not know that the person I was facing was Lucifer Morningstar._

_The horror of his face will forever haunt me. The Hellfire hidden beneath dark-brown human eyes and the reddish, Fallen skin covered in expensive suits. He saw me and laughed when I crossed myself, wishing me good luck with that… as if the thought of God aiding me in this moment of need was ridiculous._

_That dismissive laughter haunts my dreams even today, five months after I met him. It wakes me up at night._

_I try to have faith. I must believe that He would ward me against evil, but the laughter shatters my hopes every time._

_He did not answer my prayers that night, and He has not answered since._

_Please, my flock, beware of the man named Lucifer Morningstar. He is a mockery of all that is holy._

Her hands trembling, she opened the other flagged entry:

_He is with us all._

_My dear readers, my trusted flock, thank you for your support, in whatever form you provided it, be it thoughtful comments, prayers or visits to my church._

_For four years, I doubted. For four years, I was haunted by Satan’s laughter as it slowly destroyed me, my faith and my belief in the church. I was horrified to learn just how deeply the Evil One infiltrated the very archdiocese I have served in for so long-_  

So Chloe was not the only to have noticed that.

_-But now I know that He sent me on this path; He let the devil settle in Los Angeles to test the faith of those devout to Him._

_I prevailed. After years of searching, I found a congregation within the Vatican, the very home of the Holy Father himself. Their task, for centuries, has been to observe and collect all the atrocities caused, instigated and committed at the hands and in the name of the devil._

_For all those lost in this City of Angels, for all those searching for the truth and for all those appalled that the Deceiver is among us, rubbing shoulders with the rich and powerful but predictably dismissive of those who have nothing, I invite all of you to visit that congregation in Rome._

_Ask for Father William Kinley or for Father Christian Engel. They will help you._

Chloe made a note of the two names, her heart painfully hammering in her chest.

It was October. Thanksgiving Break and Christmas Break were too short and there was no way that she would leave Trixie behind in a city that held the devil and his concubine. Now that she was on his radar, Chloe knew he would try and infiltrate her life. Lieutenant Monroe obviously could not see it, in fact, she had freely invited a demon to work for the LAPD.

Morningstar and the demon already knew of her and Dan, so she would have to be smart and careful about her next steps. Surely, her initial reaction had been overtly hostile (who could blame her?), but in the future, she would try not to draw any attention to herself; she would not further antagonize either of them, especially not the demon.

Pulling Trixie from school to visit the Vatican would raise a lot of questions and would almost certianly endanger her daughter. Instead, she would wait. She would contact the priest, Father Ralph Simmons, who had obviously already established contact with Rome. She would continue her research here in LA, and next summer, she would go on a sabbatical, with Trixie, possibly with Dan once he realized the importance of this, and she would personally meet with the congregation Father Simmons had mentioned but candidly refused to name in his blog. She would make contact with Father Kinley and Father Engel, and then she would visit them with all of her questions.

She spent another hour gathering as much information as she could about Father Simmons, his descent into near-madness, provoked by the devil’s laughter, how he nearly lost his church as everything spiraled out of control, his shame over being forgiven by those he knew freely talked and worked with the devil. She could sympathize with the feeling of loss he described. She too felt lost and violated; Morningstar had taken the world she knew and turned it on its axis. That kind of violation appeared to be part of his MO; he had done the same to Father Simmons and the street preacher. If you opposed him, he reveled in destroying you mentally and spiritually.

By the time she was ready to go to bed, the sun was already rising.

She sighed and berated herself, because she needed to take care of herself more in the future.

Fighting the devil was a longterm endeavour. If she rushed things, she would lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The name of the current archbishop of the Archdioces of Los Angeles is not named Cortez. This is pure fiction. When it comes to fan fiction, I avoid real-life references unless they are about past events (real or fictional), or if they’re canon.
> 
> References:  
> \- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antichrist  
> \- https://www.learnreligions.com/other-names-for-the-devil-2158925  
> \- https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/satan-the-adversary/  
> \- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iblis  
> \- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Satan  
> \- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Devil_in_Christianity#Roman_Catholic_views  
> \- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Catholic_Church  
> \- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roman_Catholic_Archdiocese_of_Los_Angeles
> 
>  
> 
> Next up:  
> It is the FBI's job to find the monsters. It is Lucifer's job to punish them. That is how the world works.


	12. Light and Hellfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Lucifer to punish three monsters. It sounds easier than it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your continued support and the amazing discussions we have. They're very stimulating.
> 
> We're coming to an end of this story. Announcements regarding its continuation will be done with the next chapter.
> 
> I apologize in advance for the number of lyrics that will come up in this chapter. I haven't done a lot of music lately, and Lucifer has some issues to work through.

He had not slept.

Not that he needed sleep, but he enjoyed it these days.

Preferably with a lover that decided to stay after sex.

Instead, he had spent the rest of the night standing on the balcony, smoking cigarettes and emptying an entire bottle of 25-year old Talisker.

Dr. Linda would be disappointed if she knew. Delilah was already worried.

 _‘Next time you’re upset, why don’t you sit down by the piano, and try to voice your feelings through music instead of drinking, or sex?’_ Dr. Linda had said to him a couple of weeks ago, after Delilah had struggled with sobriety and then tore into Lucifer saying that he made everything worse; that he made her feel guilty. That in turn, had led to a night of partying and booze; a reaction that Dr. Linda thought to be a potentially harmful reaction.  _“And I know, I know that sex for you isn’t what I thought it was, it’s not a way to detach yourself emotionally. However, it’s a coping mechanism nevertheless: you know you cannot satisfy your own needs, so instead of trying to focus on what upsets you, you take care of other people’s desires. That’s not healthy, Lucifer, but expressing yourself through music is. Please, try next time!”_

Well, he had not had sex, so that had to count for something.

He would keep his promise, however.

He sat down by the piano, closed his eyes, and all he could think of was punishment and fire and the Fall.

His fingers started playing before his conscious mind knew what he wanted to play, his lips singing a slightly adjusted version of the original.

 _There, out in the darkness_  
_A fugitive running_  
_Fallen from God_  
_Fallen from Grace_  
_God be my witness_  
_I never shall yield_  
_Till we come face to face_  
_Till we come face to face_

 _He knows his way in the dark_  
_Mine is the way of the Law_  
_Those who follow the path of the righteous_  
_Shall have their reward_  
_And if they fall_  
_As Lucifer fell_  
_The flames_  
_The sword!_

 _Stars_  
_In your multitudes_  
_Scarce to be counted_  
_Filling the darkness_  
_With order and light_  
_You are the sentinels_  
_Silent and sure_  
_Keeping watch in the night_  
_Keeping watch in the night_

 _You know your place in the sky_  
_You hold your course and your aim_  
_And each in your season_  
_Returns and returns_  
_And is always the same_  
_And if you fall as Lucifer fell_  
_You fall in flame!_

 _And so it must be, and so it is written_  
_On the doorway to paradise_  
_That those who falter and those who fall_  
_Must pay the price!_

 _Lord let me find him_  
_That I may see him_  
_Safe behind bars_  
_I will never rest_  
_Till then_  
_This I swear_  
_This I swear by the stars!_  

He felt better once the poison was out, but he was not settled.

Not yet.

How could he, after talking to Dad, even if it was only through song?

But he felt better and ready to do what he was tasked to do since the beginning of time. It would have to do.

Breathing heavily, he removed his fingers from the piano, exchanged his bathrobe for a suit and abruptly left the apartment.

He could not make himself regret showing them. They had not tried to shoot him, which was more than he could say about others whom he had shown as suddenly and without preparation, but Lucifer still wished he should not have had to.

No innocent soul should be forced to look at his ruined face, if only for a glimpse and – for most of them – from far away. Granted, Delilah and Dr. Linda had seen, but only after they demanded it, and he had prepared them, so very diligently. He had not meant to show either the members of the FBI or the detectives, yet here he was, with a whole bunch of people having acquired recent proof of the divine. He could only hope that Amenadiel did not hear about this, or Lucifer would be in for yet another needless lecture. The thought alone managed to shatter the fragile peace music had provided him. Marching into the club, he instantly noticed that he was not alone.

He addressed Patrick whose eyes were a bit wide, “Why are you still here? The club closed hours ago.”

“Did you just sing ‘Stars’ from Les Misérables?” asked the bartender, his voice shaking.

“Yes, and you haven’t answered my question,” countered Lucifer, out of patience. Patrick instinctively took a step back, which irritated him further. “Am I being unclear? Have I suddenly developed a stutter? You should have been home hours ago. Why are you still here?”

For some reason, the human still did not answer, but backed up further.

“Lucifer!”

Maze’ voice was like a bucket of ice water poured over his head. He backed off, letting poor Patrick breathe whose entire body was shaking almost uncontrollably.

Lucifer exhaled sharply, and turned away from the boy.

Not a boy perhaps, a young man, technically speaking, but he looked very young as terror swallowed him whole.

“What happened?” asked his most trusted friend.

“You were there for all of it,” was all he said, going up to the bar, pouring himself another glass.

“That’s what doesn’t make sense to me. You were happy just a few hours ago. You raved about these humans-“

“Says the demon who started a relationship with one.”

The punch in the face did not hurt nearly as much as he wanted it to, but it knocked his head to the side sharply.

“That’s it,” said Dr. Linda sharply. “Stop it! Both of you! Patrick, would you mind giving us a moment? I’ll come and get you as soon as this conversation is over.”

Without protest, the bartender disappeared into the staff common room.

Maze bared her teeth at Lucifer, “So much for the devil’s blessing.”

“Oh, don’t be overly dramatic, Maze. I didn’t say anything against you two having-“

“-if you make a sexual reference now, I’ll cut your balls off-“

“I would like to see you try, Mazikeen,” growled Lucifer, rising up to his full height.

“ _Enough!”_

The blond therapist stepped between them, and they immediately stepped back, both terribly afraid of hurting Dr. Linda in the crossfire.

“Maze, what has you so agitated?” She addressed her first.

“He pretended that he was fine with _this_ ,” she hissed, gesturing between the two of them.

“Of course, I-“ protested Lucifer.

“Lucifer, stop! Let her speak.”

Reluctantly, the devil obeyed.

“First, he somehow guessed about us, and he says it’s okay. He even offered to give his blessing,” hissed Maze, gesturing at Lucifer who could see her eyes glistening. “But now that we’re here, it’s another story, and he uses it as a weapon against me.”

The fallen angel’s eyes widened, “Maze, no-“

“Because you cannot bear the loss of control you used to have over me-”

All he could do was mutely shake his head in horror. That was not even close to being the truth.

“-and now you’re giving us a hard time, because you’re afraid that you’ll end up all alone. That we’ll team up against you, just like your family did. And to lessen that pain, you already chose your new, perfect little family with these FBI agents.”

Her conclusion hurt, mostly because he _hated_ being alone, but she was wrong about everything else.

“Okay, so now that Maze voiced her feelings,” began Dr. Linda soothingly, “Lucifer, do you have something to say or do you need a moment to digest what-“

“If it doesn’t work out between the two of you, I’ll lose Dr. Linda,” was the first thing that came to mind. “Don’t try to pretend that’s not the case. If you break Dr. Linda’s heart, she’ll leave, and if she breaks yours, I will always stand by your side. Always. But you two… you can’t see it, but I can… You’re _beautiful._ ”

How could they not see that?

How could anyone not see it?

Unfortunately, this meant that if the relationship soured, it would hurt both of them.

He did not want his friends to be hurt, but it was not in his power to prevent their pain.

“You have my support, you do. Also, for your information, my _association_ with the BAU is not a blip on the radar. Not yet anyway. I’ve just met them-”

“You’re thinking of leaving with them,” interrupted Hell’s most skilled torturer.

“Maze, let him speak, please,” said Dr. Linda firmly.

“Oh please,” countered Lucifer addressing Maze directly. “That’s not an option any longer. They _know_.”

“So what?” hissed Maze. “I saw them earlier. They took it well enough. I have it from authority that the first shock is the worst.”

“They’re not supposed to know,” breathed the devil.

“We know,” countered his therapist. “Delilah and me.”

“Well, that’s justifiable,” Lucifer waved that argument away dismissively. “Delilah is my protégé and has become my adoptive little sister of sorts, and you’re… I can justify you two knowing, but there are strict rules regarding humanity finding proof for the existence of the divine.” He shuddered. “When I break Dad’s rules, I don’t do it _by_ _accident.”_

“You’re afraid.” The sneer in his demon’s voice hurt.

“Of course I am! Or have you forgotten what happened the last time I rebelled?” His skin shifted into his angelic form. “Hm?” He scoffed, when Maze just looked at him, unimpressed and unafraid. It was comforting to know he could not scare her away, but he had shielded her and all of his demons from ever being near Dad. In that aspect, she was an innocent babe. As one of the Lilim, she naturally feared her mother, justifiably so, but she did not know enough to truly be afraid of God. “I will have to pay for every little misstep I commit. I’m trying to keep a certain balance, but it’s hard to say where that balance is, because Dad doesn’t exactly voice our deals. I don’t know what he’ll do to me for defying him, and that means that all of my little trespasses better be worth it, because there will be literal Hell to pay.”

“Are we?” asked Dr. Linda, and Lucifer tilted his head because he was not sure what she was trying to say. “Coming to Earth has been, in many ways, your most rebellious act since the Fall. Is it worth it? Are _we_ worth it?”

He did not even have to think about it, “Of course, it is. Of course, you are.”

“Are the FBI agents worth it?” she continued, her eyes never wavering from his, and Lucifer remembered to change into his human skin.

“I’ll make sure of it,” said he firmly. It would be a pity, to let that kind of Light just slip through his fingers.

“Then there’s no need to be afraid,” she concluded.

One knot loosened in his chest. Dr. Linda was right. Of course she was. He nodded.

As if sensing that this was not the only thing bothering him, she said, “There is something else, isn’t there?”

“I don’t know,” replied Lucifer unsurely. “My chest hurts.”

“Why?” she asked.

“I think I already told you that I don’t know,” replied Lucifer testily, which had Maze up in arms, but Dr. Linda soothed her with a firm arm around her partner’s wrist.

“Who makes your chest hurt?” she asked.

That made him think, but again, asked like that, the answer was easy, “You. Delilah. Sophie. Patrick. Dr. Reid. Ms. Garcia. Agent Morgan. Agent Prentiss. Agent Jareau. Agent Rossi. Agent Hotchner-“ he began, but his voice trailed out, because so many faces came to mind.

“Okay. So, let’s call them the humans in your life. When did your chest last hurt?” she probed, very softly.

“Just earlier,” he answered promptly. “With Patrick.”

“After you scared him,” she concluded, but it was still posed as a query.

“Yes,” he confirmed.

“So, perhaps,” she suggested, “you feel bad for scaring us or potentially scaring us. But that fear of yours isn’t new. Is there another context that makes you feel uncomfortable? Something that never bothered you before, but is now making your chest hurt, too.”

He had to mull that over for a moment.

“Thinking of Fletcher and Woods and Ward,” he replied slowly. “The monsters who hurt all these women… Why would that induce the same kind of pain?”

He looked to Dr. Linda for guidance.

“Oh.” That exclamation came from Maze, whose eyes were wide.

“Yes, Maze? What is it?” asked Dr. Linda gently.

“You need to let go, Lucifer,” his demons commanded. “You haven’t punished anyone since we’ve come here. Instead, you’ve been _nice_ and _kind_ and _sweet_.” The fact she could not utter these words without a sneer made him smile, but he could already tell that he would not like where this was going. “On the few occasions you had someone to punish, it was for petty crimes, so you couldn’t unleash your full wrath, and even if, I think you would have let me do it. You need an outlet. Hell’s wrath is boiling beneath the surface and these bastards deserve everything that’s coming to them.”

The moment she voiced it, Hellfire burned with the intensity of a thousand suns, and he turned away, so Dr. Linda would not see.

Maze was right, of course she was, but that did not make it easier to let go.

“Lucifer,” he heard Dr. Linda’s soft, soothing tone. “It’s okay. I know I’m safe around you, just like I’m safe around Maze. In fact, I’m probably the safest soul on the planet right now.”

Lucifer shrugged his shoulders. She was not wrong about that.

“I’m not going to say you aren’t terrifying when you bestow celestial wrath on a sinner, but I also know that when you do, it’s for a good reason,” she continued, proclaiming her faith in his judgment.

“And these bastards will get off easy if you decide to let it go. They don’t deserve easy,” hissed Maze. “It wouldn’t be just.”

Maze’ harsh words rather than Dr. Linda’s soothing tone was what managed to convince him. She was right. These three men deserved punishment. If he refused to do it, he could no longer call himself the devil.

A mantle he did not want, but a job he was required to do.

“Let’s go, Maze,” said he grimly. “You said you needed to go to the precinct to meet with Lieutenant Monroe.”

Without hesitation, she was by his side.

“Wait a minute, you two!” commanded Dr. Linda and they both halted in their steps. “Lucifer, I think you’ve forgotten something. And someone.”

“Oh, yes,” the devil muttered. “Patrick, I’ll go get him.”

“Yes, that and you started but did not finish your therapy,” said Dr. Linda.

“I didn’t know this was a session, Dr. Linda,” frowned Lucifer.

“I’m not talking about that. You started with the music, but you didn’t play it all the way through, did you? I think you should. You’re leaving because it’s your duty, not because you want to. Please, try, it might help you come to terms with what you need to do. I’m getting Patrick.”

Knowing better than to contradict his therapist, he sat down by the piano, and let the music take him. This time, he did not play the entirety of Stars, but only its second part. 

 _Stars_  
_In your multitudes_  
_Scarce to be counted_  
_Filling the darkness_  
_With order and light_  
_You are the sentinels_  
_Silent and sure_  
_Keeping watch in the night_  
_Keeping watch in the night_

 _You know your place in the sky_  
_You hold your course and your aim_  
_And each in your season_  
_Returns and returns_  
_And is always the same_  
_And if you fall as Lucifer fell_  
_You fall in flame!_

 _And so it must be, and so it is written_  
_On the doorway to paradise_  
_That those who falter and those who fall_  
_Must pay the price!_

 _Lord let me find him_  
_That I may see him_  
_Safe behind bars_  
_I will never rest_  
_Till then_  
_This I swear_  
_This I swear by the stars!_

Again, his chest felt too tight, but, because he could mostly sing to the stars and not to Dad, it was less painful. All that remained was the residual ache of only seeing the stars, but no longer being able to be among them.

Not just because he no longer had his wings.

But because Dad had willed it so. 

 His fingers played the next song, a logical conclusion of his inner thought process. 

 _I don't want to talk_  
_About the things we've gone through_  
_Though it's hurting me_  
_Now it's history_  
_I've played all my cards_  
_And that's what you've done too_  
_Nothing more to say_  
_No more ace to play_

 _The winner takes it all_  
_The loser standing small_  
_Beside the victory_  
_That's her destiny_

 _I was in your arms_  
_Thinking I belonged there_  
_I figured it made sense_  
_Building me a fence_  
_Building me a home_  
_Thinking I'd be strong there_  
_But I was a fool_  
_Playing by the rules_

 _The gods may throw a dice_  
_Their minds as cold as ice_  
_And someone way down here_  
_Loses someone dear_  
_The winner takes it all_  
_The loser has to fall_  
_It's simple and it's plain_  
_Why should I complain_

 _But tell me does she kiss_  
_Like I used to kiss you?_  
_Does it feel the same_  
_When she calls your name?_  
_Somewhere deep inside_  
_You must know I miss you_  
_But what can I say_  
_Rules must be obeyed_

 _The judges will decide_  
_The likes of me abide_  
_Spectators of the show_  
_Always staying low_  
_The game is on again_  
_A lover or a friend_  
_A big thing or a small_  
_The winner takes it all_

 _I don't want to talk_  
_If it makes you feel sad_  
_And I understand_  
_You've come to shake my hand_  
_I apologize_  
_If it makes you feel bad_  
_Seeing me so tense_  
_No self-confidence_  
_But you see_  
_The winner takes it all_  
_The winner takes it all_

 _So the winner takes it all_  
_And the the loser has to fall_  
_Throw a dice, cold as ice_  
_Way down here, someone dear_  
_Takes it all, has to fall_  
_It seems plain to me_

The pain was gone. He was just sad, lost in the music, which led him to his next piece.

 _Well, my friends are gone and my hair is grey_  
_I ache in the places where I used to play_  
_And I'm crazy for love but I'm not coming on_  
_I'm just paying my rent every day in the Tower of Song_

 _I said to Hank Williams, how lonely does it get?_  
_Hank Williams hasn't answered yet_  
_But I hear him coughing all night long_  
_Oh, a hundred floors above me in the Tower of Song_

 _I was born like this, I had no choice_  
_I was born with the gift of a golden voice_  
_And twenty-seven angels from the Great Beyond_  
_They tied me to this table right here in the Tower of Song_

 _So you can stick your little pins in that voodoo doll_  
_I'm very sorry, baby, doesn't look like me at all_  
_I'm standing by the window where the light is strong_  
_Ah, they don't let a woman kill you, not in the Tower of Song_

 _Now, you can say that I've grown bitter but of this you may be sure_  
_The rich have got their channels in the bedrooms of the poor_  
_And there's a mighty judgment coming, but I may be wrong_  
_You see, you hear these funny voices in the Tower of Song_

 _I see you standing on the other side_  
_I don't know how the river got so wide_  
_I loved you baby, way back when_  
_And all the bridges are burning that we might have crossed_  
_But I feel so close to everything that we lost_  
_We'll never, we'll never have to lose it again_

 _Now I bid you farewell, I don't know when I'll be back_  
_They're moving us tomorrow to that tower down the track_  
_But you'll be hearing from me baby, long after I'm gone_  
_I'll be speaking to you sweetly from a window in the Tower of Song_

 _Yeah, my friends are gone and my hair is gray_  
_I ache in the places where I used to play_  
_And I'm crazy for love but I'm not coming on_  
_I'm just paying my rent every day in the Tower of Song_

He could breathe again. He looked to his audience, which had retreated behind the bar, and his eyes rested on Patrick. He really needed to address him and apologize in the only way he knew how.

 _If I could turn back time_  
_If I could find a way_  
_I'd take back those words that hurt you_  
_And you'd stay_  
_I don't know why I did the things I did_  
_I don't know why I said the things I said_  
_Love's like a knife it can cut deep inside_  
_Words are like weapons, they wound sometimes_  
_I didn't really mean to hurt you_  
_I didn't want to see you go_  
_I know I made you cry, but baby_

 _If I could turn back time_  
_If I could find a way_  
_I'd take back those words that hurt you_  
_And you'd stay_  
_If I could reach the stars_  
_I'd give 'em all to you_  
_Then you'd love me, love me, like you used to do_  
_If I could turn back time_

 _My world was shattered I was torn apart_  
_Like someone took a knife and drove it_  
_Deep in my heart_  
_You walk out that door I swore that I didn't care_  
_But I lost everything darling then and there_  
_Too strong to tell you I was sorry_  
_Too proud to tell you I was wrong_  
_I know that I was blind, and darling_

 _If I could turn back time_  
_If I could find a way_  
_I'd take back those words that hurt you_  
_And you'd stay_  
_If I could reach the stars_  
_I'd give 'em all to you_  
_Then you'd love me, love me, like you used to do, oh_

 _If I could turn back time (If I could turn back time)_  
_If I could turn back time (If I could turn back time)_  
_If I could turn back time, oh baby_

 _I didn't really mean to hurt you_  
_I didn't want to see you go_  
_I know I made you cry_

 _If I could turn back time_  
_If I could find a way_  
_I'd take back those words that hurt you_  
_If I could reach the stars_  
_I'd give 'em all to you_  
_Then you'd love me, love me, like you used to do_

 _If I could turn back time (turn back time)_  
_If I could find a way (find a way)_  
_Then maybe maybe maybe you'd stay_  

Patrick, who knew him well enough that this was all he could offer in terms of apologies, nodded solemnly in return. His eyes then drifted over to Maze and Dr. Linda who were holding hands. Dr. Linda looked as relaxed and blissful as Patrick, but Maze – while her eyes had formed into a fond smile – still looked tense.

Silly demon. Did she not know that he was a devil of his word?

 _Hey you, you're a child in my head_  
_You haven't walked yet_  
_Your first words have yet to be said_  
_But I swear you'll be blessed_

 _I know you're still just a dream_  
_your eyes might be green_  
_Or the bluest that I've ever seen_  
_Anyway you'll be blessed_

 _And you, you'll be blessed_  
_You'll have the best_  
_I promise you that_  
_I'll pick a star from the sky_

 _Pull your name from a hat_  
_I promise you that, promise you that, promise you that_  
_You'll be blessed_

 _I need you before I'm too old_  
_To have and to hold_  
_To walk with you and watch you grow_  
_And know that you're blessed_

He did not really do blessings, it was not his domain, but the music resonated in his heart and soul. For the brief moments that the song lasted, he could amost feel the Light engulf him in a way that used to be natural to him eons ago. Completely relaxed and happy, he focused his mind on the three sinners that deserved his more ruthless, less forgiving side, which led to a rendition of Sinnerman.

 _Oh, Sinnerman, where are you gonna run to?_  

Once finished with that, he rose from his seat and mock-bowed to the lonely claps from his friends.

“If you will excuse me. There are three souls awaiting judgment.”

With a grin, he left Lux, Maze by his side, their steps synchronized in a choreography they had mastered ages ago. She seemed happy and there was a bounce to her step that made him smile. They did not speak much on the drive to the precinct, but then, no words were needed.

“Are you happy?” asked Lucifer quietly once the silence stretched too much, unable to ban the worry from his tone. He loved Dr. Linda, but this was Maze. His loyalty would always be to her first.

“I don’t know,” was the honest reply, sounding as lost as he felt.

“Maze-“ he began, but she waved his concerns away dismissively.

“I’m good. Taking baby steps, Linda would say,” she replied. “Still figuring things out and she understands.”

The silence that followed was much more comfortable and spoke more of their countless years of companionship. In the parking lot, they separated. She immediately left for Lieutenant Monroe’s office and Lucifer remained, because he had seen his new acquaintances drive into the parking lot. They had obviously seen him as well, because they gathered together first before they approached him as a unit. Every single one of them emitted warmth and Light, but as a group they were a sight to be seen. He could not help the smile he bestowed on them.

They came to a stop and seemed to be at a loss for words. Dr. Reid was fingering what looked like a notebook, and Lucifer just knew that it contained a long list of questions.

“My dear agents,” he greeted them with a nod.

“Good morning, L-Lucifer,” said Hotch, and to his credit, he looked rather calm and composed about it, but Lucifer knew that the news had rattled him. That brief, almost unnoticable hitch in his voice spoke volumes.

Agents Jareau and Prentiss again drew strength from each other’s presence, and Lucifer felt a bit sorry for not addressing their fears last night. Strangely enough, it was Agent Morgan who properly addressed him next, “Hey, man, how are you doing?”

“I’m quite well, but I should be the one asking this question. I hope my true form, regardless of how brief that glimpse was, did not unnecessarily disturb your dreams.”

“Nah,” was the firm reply. “Don’t get me wrong, this is huge, and thirty minutes turned into two hours of helping the Kid write down his questions, but you were not the reason for the nightmares. Nearly being suffocated or burned alive in a fire did the trick well enough. The memory of your rescue managed to dispel most of my nightmares, actually.”

“Really?” asked Lucifer, unable to hide his surprise. “Only most? What other nightmares plagued you?”

Something very fleeting ghosted over the profiler’s expression, which made him look like a young boy.

Oh.

“How come?” he asked. “Were you threatened?”

Agent Morgan looked like he was feeling ill, “Yes, but nothing happened. Much.”

“Much?”

“Just some creepy-ass behavior from a horny UnSub,” he dismissed it, but the expression in his eyes was dull, and fury coursed through Lucifer. “Are _you_ okay?”

“Perfectly,” whispered Lucifer, his voice deeper than usual. “Which one?”

“He died in the fire.”

“Pity,” he commented coldly, before warmth returned to his voice upon seeing the FBI’s technical analyst. “Ms. Garcia, what are your lovely fingers holding?”

She had been fingering a small piece of something since he had first approached them. That seemed to be her cue because she quickly stepped into his comfort zone and handed over what looked like a bright pink USB storage device. Instantly thinking of Dr. Reid’s booklet, he smiled in response, “I see you have questions. Are these for me to answer?”

“Excuse me?” she asked distractedly. “No, I mean, yes, Emily, JJ and I have a ton of questions and they’re all on an encrypted file on my laptop – private, not FBI, because I’m not supposed to encrypt anything there – no, this is my good-thought library.”

He tilted his head, wordlessly asking her to continue.

“This contains a list of things why humanity is awesome. Well, two lists: a top 100, and a list that has 1000+ things on it; I update it constantly.” Her smile was shaky and she spoke very fast as if nervous. “There are also multimedia files containing my favorite kitten and puppy videos from the internet, and a few other things. I take this wherever I go, because what we’re doing, this job, it sometimes lets me forget how amazing this world is, and that reminded me that you’ve basically had the same job for an eternity, so I thought that you need this more than I do and I-” His silence had to make her even more nervous, because she continued even more hastily, “Oh no, can you even use this when you’re in Hell? I should’ve printed it. Can you take hard copies to Hell? This was an awful idea and-”

He reached out his fingers and gently plucked the small device from hers. Gently and slowly, he reached forward and grasped her hand, making sure she knew she could prompt him to let go at any time and opened her palm, handing back the USB stick by closing her fingers.

“Thank you, Ms. Garcia, but you just gave me what I needed. Who needs a cyber memory of humanity’s goodness when its personification stands before me?” he smiled at her softly. She was this bundle of Light that reminded him of the sun in its early years, smaller than the brightest ones but all the more precious for its pure warmth. Dad had seen his affinity for the sun, which was why Earth had been formed within this solar system.

Agent Morgan’s low chuckle pulled him out of his reveries, “Come on, Mama, before you propose to LA’s most eligible bachelor.”

Lucifer was quite touched that Agent Morgan had not mentioned anything about devils in this context, but the suggestion made him chuckle, “Please, I would say ‘yes’ to each and every single one of you. Interested?” he smiled alluringly, his eyes gleaming with mischief, and thankfully, it had the desired effect. The profile snorted.

“Told you, I’m a ladies man all the way,” grinned Agent Morgan.

With a dramatic sigh, Lucifer turned to Agents Prentiss and Jareau, which had the latter turn beet-red and muttering something about “already kinda-sorta seeing some-“ before cutting herself off sharply. However, that odd reaction caused the entire team to shift their attention from Lucifer to their colleague. Agent Prentiss grinned, and decided to come to her friend’s rescue by addressing him, “Just how much money do you have?”

“I’ve kind of started accumulating it when it became a thing, Agent Prentiss, so plenty, but if you want an exact number you should really ask Jonathan and his wife Natalia, they’re my accountants and make sure everything is in order.”

“Gold digger or not, that sounds like a sweet deal,” she smiled, and for the first time since she knew, he could see her relax fully. “If Garcia doesn’t propose, I might.”

“I would like to remind everyone that relationships between members of the same team are actually against regulations,” Agent Hotchner decided to chime in, spoiling all the fun. “And that includes civilian consultants.”

Surprised, Lucifer turned to face the unit chief fully, “Agent Hotchner, are you saying you still want me in your team? I’m-“

“Exactly who you said you were. You didn’t lie to us, you didn’t even try to keep it a secret, which means you don’t lie and that… will be a problem, but I’m sure we can get clearance for you if we assist you a little bit.”

“Don’t worry, they got _me_ into the team,” commented Dr. Reid casually. “And I initially failed everything that had to do with exercise or shooting. I think getting you cleared will be easier on Morgan’s nerves for sure.”

“We might have some questions,” said Rossi. “A ton of them, actually, but that is a reason to have you on the team rather than grounds to reject you.”

He looked at this amazing group of people, some a bit more hesitant than others but all welcoming and without a hint of deceit in their expressions.

“Thank you,” was all he could think of to say, but he knew they might change their opinion once they came face to face with the devil’s justice. “I think there are three men awaiting punishment.”

“Let’s not make them wait, then,” said Agent Rossi, obviously curious.

Entering the precinct, the first thing Lucifer noticed were Detectives Decker and Espinoza standing by what looked like Detective Collins’ desk. Her eyes were on him immediately. He noticed that her Light had lessened a bit, still alluringly bright, but not quite as blinding anymore. Instead, there was a sorrowful air about her that saddened Lucifer, and made him want to protect her. Upon seeing him, she approached the group with sure steps, ignoring her husband’s protests.

“My actions last night were… inappropriate,” said she after a moment, awkward and unused to apologizing, which was something that Lucifer could relate to all too well.

“All’s forgiven and forgotten, Detective,” he replied. “Dwelling on the past only brings sorrow in its path.” They were not just empty words. He had a long memory, like any immortal, was quite unforgiving in most aspects, but he had learned a long time ago that outrage over being wronged was utterly useless.

Agent Morgan put a hand on his upper arm and gently pulled him toward what looked like the interrogation room. Dr. Reid trailed after them.

“I thought you recognized the kill-it-with-fire types,” muttered the profiler once they were out of earshot. “What changed?”

“I’m quite a horrific sight, Agent Morgan. Usually, I reserve it for the souls I punish. I did not mean to shatter the very ground she stood on,” explained Lucifer. “Who am I to stand in the way of remorse? I was never in any danger regardless.”

“So hurting and killing others is a sin, punishable by a one-way trip to Hell, but hurting _you_ is fine?” asked the agent incredulously.

“Well, of course,” replied Lucifer casually, fingers on the handle leading into the interrogation room. “It would be quite hypocritical of Dad to punish anyone for hurting me, when he shattered me more effectively than any human ever could.” He opened the door with a bright grin. “Hello, sinners!”

After being surrounded by Light for so long, one would assume that their darkness would be intense enough to swallow him. Instead, they were just pathetic excuses of whimpering little humans falsly believing they had any power by destroying innocents.

No different than the thousands of souls cast into Hell before them. And just like the dark souls that came before them, it was the devil’s job to punish them.

“Lucifer!”

Agent Morgan’s voice pulled him back to the present.

“Yes, Agent Morgan?” he asked, facing his almost-colleague calmly, ignoring the whimpers of Fletcher, Ward and Woods.

“You mustn’t hurt them,” said he.

“You have my word that I won’t lay a hand on them,” he replied.

“Given what I’ve seen you do with a coin, that doesn’t mean much,” was Agent Morgan’s reply, utterly unimpressed.

“I shall not physically harm them. Dad’s golden rule says not to kill, so I won’t, but surely it’s okay for me to talk to them?”

“Of course,” accepted the profiler slowly. “What do you want to know?”

“ _Tell me your sins_ ,” whispered Lucifer, consciously aiming his question only at Ward, Fletchers and Woods, but putting his full power over desire behind the question.

And like all dark souls before them, they could not help themselves and told him _everything_. Every little awful thing they did, every soul they attempted to destroy, every petty little thought (‘ _the whores asked for it_ ’) and what they planned on doing _(‘the Monroe bitch deserves to suffer for what she did to my brother’_ ), and without touching them, he had their full confession. This technique only worked so beautifully with dark souls. They had no conscious filter between their desires and actions, nothing to keep them from spilling every dirty secret they tried to keep. Ward was the only one who put up any kind of resistance, because there was some Light left in him.

That would not do. He was as guilty as the other two.

“Look at me,” he commanded Ward coldly, who reluctantly obeyed. For the briefest of seconds, he let Hellfire shine through his eyes, metaphorically letting Hell swallow that pathetic creature before him. Predictably, the man lost it, and he threw himself back into his chair, crashing into the wall behind him.

Lucifer smiled cruelly as he watched Agent Morgan and some unnamed detective wrestle Ward back into his chair. He opened the door and shushed Dr. Reid, Morgan and the detective out of the interrogation room. Just before he closed the door behind him, he peaked back into his personal, little torture chamber.

“Oh, Woods? Fletcher?” They both flinched in response, and Lucifer smiled. “I almost forgot… _Let there be Light.”_

Their Earth-shattering screams were music to his ears.

He was the devil.

They were his.

The BAU may hunt and catch men like them, but it was Lucifer’s task to bestow rightful punishment.

And he enjoyed every second of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:  
> Changed lyrics from “Stars” (musical: Les Misérables)  
> “Mine is the way of the Law” – Original “Mine is the way of the Lord”
> 
> Playlist:  
> \- “Stars” from Les Misérables  
> \- “The Winner Takes it All,” Abba  
> \- “Tower of Song,” Leonard Cohen  
> \- “If I Could Turn Back Time,” Cher  
> \- “Blessed,” Elton John  
> \- “Sinnerman” (basically the version from the show)


	13. Abandon Hope All Ye Who...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In his years studying behavior, Aaron knew that triggers play a major role for changing habits. He had an important question for the devil.
> 
> After they explained to him that setting people on fire, however briefly, was not acceptable procedure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last "plot chapter". There will be an epilogue from an unusual POV.

That bloodcurdling scream caused the hairs on the back of Aaron’s neck to stand up. Morgan quickly ran to the door of the interrogation room and peaked inside.

“What did you do? Momentarily set them on fire with your mind?” he asked, his eyes wide.

Lucifer appeared to be listening to the screams that slowly subsided with a gleeful smile, but upon Morgan’s question, his eyes lightened up even further, “Oh, this is an excellent suggestion, Agent Morgan! Let me just-“ he began, trying to walk past Morgan whose right hand was still on the handle.

“No!” exclaimed Morgan, putting himself between the door and the all-too eager immortal punisher who seemed more relaxed than Aaron had ever seen him.

“An eye for an eye, Agent Morgan,” was his casual reply as if talking about the weather. ”They nearly burned you alive. Wouldn’t you say they deserve the same treatment? I can make it so nobody will ever know.”

It was obvious how the almost innocently posed offer greatly tempted Morgan, but – as strange as it sounded given their current predicament of dealing with the devil himself – Aaron had absolute faith in all of his agents’ integrity, so he said nothing.

“No,” exhaled Morgan after a moment, reluctantly but firmly. “Don’t get me wrong, I want them to suffer, and I can’t wait for their conviction. However, while you probably outrank any court of any land on Earth, I can’t let you torture them, not on my watch. I swore an oath, and torturing people or letting them be tortured goes against that.”

Lucifer, his eyes focused on Morgan, was all ears, but then he rolled his eyes and put his hand flat on the door.

“Shut up, you pathetic creatures. It’s not like you ever headed your victims’ pleas. Why on Earth would I show you any mercy?”

He spoke quietly, but the sobs instantly stopped. Then he turned back to Morgan, “I would never ask of you to break an oath. Is it the ‘I solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States of America’ speech? That is so quaint. I thought that only happened in movies,” he smiled. “Wonderful!” Then he seemed to be mentally rewinding the oath, because his expression turned grave. “ _’So help me God’_ … Yeah, he doesn’t, just in case you wondered.”

“I figured as much,” said Morgan, old disappointment and anger burning beneath the surface. Aaron had thought that Morgan made some sort of peace with God after Garcia was shot, but it seemed like meeting Lucifer rekindled that disillusionment.

“Oh, he cares,” countered Lucifer, somehow realizing what was going on inside of Morgan’s head. “He just…rarely interferes, and believe me, you better pray he never does in your lifetime.” Whatever memory he had, be it the plagues of Egypt, the Flood or the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, Lucifer shuddered visibly.

“How did you make them confess?”

Aaron reprimanded himself for being so focused on both Morgan and Lucifer that he had forgotten about Reid being witness to the entire scene.

Reid, who had spent agonizing days in the captivity of Tobias Hankel, a man whose mind had fractured into three distinct personalities – that of Tobias, his abusive father Charles and _the archangel Raphael_ – the Tobias Hankel, who had asked him again and again to confess his sins, so that he could kill him, the Tobias Hankel whose pain treatment with Dilaudid subsequently led to Reid’s severe addiction, a dependency he was still struggling with on a bad day.

And Lucifer’s unfortunate turn of phrase had just opened that entire can of worms. Inwardly, Aaron cursed, reprimanding himself for the oversight, but he had to cut himself some slack as they were not exactly working with normal parameters here.

“I’m the devil,” was the immediate response. “It’s what I do. Granted, here on Earth I usually ask for pleasant things, like what it is that you desire, but in Hell, desire has no reason to be. In Hell, you must face the sins you committed. That has been my entire job since my Fall.”

“So, you just-you could ask me to confess my sins, and I would tell you every little thing I did,” concluded Reid quietly, his eyes wide, and lost in terrible memories.

Thankfully, Lucifer seemed to notice that something was off, because his full attention was now on the young genius, “No, I could not. Humans have free will, and therefore the right to refuse and to hide what they did through omission, but dark souls like Fletcher and Woods, well, all they desire are the horrible crimes they’re committing, so they cannot help themselves but tell me everything. Why are you asking, young one?”

Reid’s face went through a complicated range of emotions before it settled on something that Aaron would call a mix of inner torment and curiosity, “I knew that. I mean, you obviously couldn’t care less about some sins and vices, but I’ve got to ask you about your brothers. How do they react to… sinners?”

“Punishing sinners is my domain. Not theirs,” frowned Lucifer, sensing that there was a subliminal conversation he was not privy to. “Amenadiel and Michael don’t care about the deeds of a sole sinner. That’s _beneath_ them,” he sneered. “As for the others. They have other tasks.”

“What would happen if an archangel went rogue?” Reid continued, now outwardly shaking a bit, lost in memories.

That made Lucifer laugh, “Archangels don’t go ‘rogue,’ Dr. Reid, it’s against their nature. The closest thing to doing so was me, and I never hurt anyone beyond perhaps giving my older brothers a black eye.”

“But what if? What if one of them got fed up with ‘wayward human souls’ and started to punish them for their sins?”

“I don’t take kindly to angels encroaching on my territory, siblings or not,” said Lucifer quietly, his eyes very serious. “As long as they don’t take the mantle of Lord of Hell, they have no right to punish anyone without my approval. But, to go with your hypothetical, if one of them snapped and killed humans, it would be Michael’s job to stop them, perhaps Amenadiel’s, and it would be mine to punish them. If the one going rogue is either one of them? The other would team up with me in order to stop our brother. If it’s me,” a faint tremble went through his body. “Dad will destroy me without hesitation.”

Aaron’s heartbeat stuttered. He was not the most religious of people, certainly not on the level of Dave or Jason, who were both faithful Christians – poor Dave, he was rolling with the punch admirably, but Aaron had seen him in the hotel last night, and he knew that meeting the literal devil, who was not at all what Dave had imagined, had rocked his world quite painfully.

As far as Aaron was concerned, it was hard to revere a God that allowed you to be knocked around on a daily basis. Consciously removing all memories of the past, he focused on the present. God had not helped Aaron when he was a boy, and now it looked like one of His children genuinely feared him even though he tried to hide it behind anger, an emotion that Aaron knew all to well. Noticing that, Aaron wondered if he could bear stepping into a church ever again.

Reid, who approached the entire situation with curiosity and admirable calm, was still lost in his horrific experiences with Tobias Hankel, and Aaron’s suspicions were confirmed when he asked Lucifer, “What about the archangel Raphael?”

“Raphael’s the sweet one,” was the genuinely fond reply. “He’s the healer of the family. When I Fell, he was very young and we haven’t talked much-or at all since, but he was always so worried about everyone’s wellbeing. Hates conflict. Always loved humanity even when we were just talking about it. I’ve been hearing about him on Earth, he just-goes from place to place to give aide to whoever needs it.”

“So, he isn’t wrathful or overly judgmental?” asked Reid, relaxing with every word Lucifer said.

“Raphael?” repeated Lucifer. “No, healing is his domain and out of all of us, he’s the most merciful. Your questions are very strange, young one, what are you not telling me?”

Before Reid could go into details, Dave approached them, “Heads up, Lieutenant Monroe is coming over, and she’s not happy.”

Aaron turned only to see Lieutenant Monroe stalk over with sure steps. ‘Not happy’ was an understatement.

“Is it common practice for the BAU to intimidate and torture the people they took into custody?” she asked harshly. “I cannot risk getting complaints concerning my department, especially regarding a case that affects me personally.”

“Lieutenant, I absolutely understand-“ began Aaron quietly, but Lucifer’s lips formed a charming smile, his eyes gleaming playfully, and the Unit Chief of the BAU figured that, since he just renewed his offer, he would have to trust Lucifer’s judgment. While it was obvious that they still had some differences to hash out (read: How to explain to an immortal whose job was to bestow punishment on wrongdoers since humanity was at its earliest stages that he had to abide by the currently existing laws, so that the integrity of the FBI was maintained), he knew that expression well enough to know that Lucifer would not disappoint him.

“Lieutenant!” he smiled, blinking innocently. “So wonderful to see you on this lovely morning. I hope you’re well.”

Her lips twitched, but she remained firm, “I think I would be better if I didn’t have one of my detectives tell me that you’re scaring the hell out of the people in my custody.”

“That is not quite correct, I am putting the fear of Hell _into_ them, there is no Hell inside of any of us.”

“I thought you were the devil,” she replied, unable to keep a straight face in view of his open, almost childishly happy smile.

“Hellfire burns inside of me but Hell is really just my version of your LAPD precinct so to speak, so simply a place where I used to work,” he answered.

She took a breath, and continued, “Still, I can’t have you hurt anyone, be they criminal or not.”

“I didn’t lay a hand on them, I promise. I did not force them to confess, I simply… prompted them.” Then a thought came to his mind, “You know Mazikeen is an excellent instructor and bounty hunter, but you might want to remind her what you just told me.”

“We’ve already discussed certain issues,” countered Lieutenant Monroe, “but, only in the range of ‘don’t kill or maim the perps we’re pointing you toward.’ Then I had one of my detectives tell me about this commotion here, so I sent her to go to our training area to introduce herself as the new instructor for hand-to-hand combat and self-defense training. Where are you going?”

Lucifer had stepped away prompting an LAPD officer to tell him where the training area was, “Just making sure that ‘no maiming’ will be applied to combat training with your officers as well. She’s feared within my staff, past and present.”

That statement was chilling. Morgan shook his head, half-amused and half-exasperated, and they all followed the quick but unhurried, long strides of their latest team member.

The sight was almost comical. There was Mazikeen, with a man twice her size in a headlock before pushing him away, disgusted.

“That’s pathetic! And you’re supposed to protect the citizens of LA?” she sneered.

“Mazikeen,” sing-songed Lucifer, which had her turn around. “Breaking their backs won’t make them better fighters. We’ve talked about this: human spines don’t heal.”

“I can’t trust these slobs to make sure Linda’s safe when I’m out of town,” she said indignantly, pointing angrily at the man she had just pushed away.

“Dearest Maze, breaking them certainly won’t help the matter,” said he. “Remember what Dromos always says: show them the moves, let them practice the moves, and only fling them across the room when they’re being mouthy.”

She scoffed, but seemed to accept Lucifer’s advice.

Whether his words were deliberate or not, they had an effect on the obviously terrified members of the LAPD who had retreated back as far back as the room allowed them. It was obvious that they would work themselves into exhaustion rather than going against her regime.

“Thank you, Mr. Morningstar, for your foresight,” thanked Lieutenant Monroe, but she looked quite intrigued with Mazikeen’s skills. “Have you had the same training as her? Because I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“No, I was trained elsewhere, but I have practiced with and alongside her,” was Lucifer’s reply.

“We haven’t in a long time,” stated Mazikeen hungrily, which had Lucifer play with his cufflinks, a very characteristic move that Aaron had observed multiple times, but a behavioral tick that was very difficult to interpret because it did not seem to be connected to any particular emotional state.

“And while I’m wearing this suit, we won’t,” he countered.

“Vanity shall be your downfall, Lucifer Morningstar,” she smiled fondly.

“ _’Vanity, definitely my favorite sin,_ ’” Lucifer quoted Pacino’s famous line from _The Devil’s Advocate_ , together with perfect intonation, accent and almost voice. “Ironic, coming from a fallen angel. Vanity and pride should be our middle names, really. Good artistic performance, however, even if dead-wrong. I mean, just wrong. I never wanted to rule Hell! The only thing we share is his frustration with God, and his admittance that he doesn’t make things happen, but other than that? Well, at least, Pacino isn’t _blond.”_

Morgan and Emily cracked up at that. JJ and Reid tried to hide their smile behind their hands. Garcia looked spooked and a bit worried, her eyes wide obviously concerned that the LAPD would believe him. Rossi just shook his head, probably rethinking the choices that had led him to return to the BAU. Aaron momentarily lowered his head so nobody could see his grin. Knowing that Lucifer spoke the truth, not just his truth, but the literal, absolute truth, made his rant absolutely hilarious.

“Why do I have the feeling your team’s in on the joke and we _are_ the joke?” asked Lieutenant Monroe ruefully.

“My dearest Lieutenant, no, you couldn’t ever be a joke,” Lucifer denied. “Someone with the ability to see Maze for the marvel that she is couldn’t possibly be viewed as anything other than an excellent leader. The LAPD is lucky to have you.”

While Aaron absolutely agreed, the level of praise was unexpected, and though it had the side effect of getting Lieutenant Monroe off Lucifer’s case as was probably his intention, it was obvious that he would have said it regardless of outcome.

A few minutes later, the entire team was standing by the window to the interrogation room, together with Detectives Decker and Espinoza. Woods, Ward and Fletcher were still in there. Apparently, in the short time that they were gone, they had to be separated from each other, because Ward completely turned on them, saying that this was all instigated by Fletcher and that Woods and Fletcher had worked together long before he was in the game, which had led to a physical attack from Woods who was beating Ward to the point he needed medical attention. The whole thing was on tape and the team watched how these three men slowly transformed from being miserable and terrified begging for mercy, to backstabbing each other, to excessive violence and back to an almost catatonic state. It had taken several detectives and officers to keep the man from ripping each other apart. The whole scene was disturbing to watch. JJ covered her mouth with both of her hands, Emily’s eyes and mouth were wide open, Rossi covered his beard with his hand, Reid was watching intently, nervously rubbing his hands as he always did in the face of such violence. Morgan looked quite disturbed at the whole scene hugging Garcia who looked away. Detective Decker was hard to read, but her eyes were wide with fear and she looked from the tape to Lucifer. Detective Espinoza frowned, visibly shaken.

Lucifer seemed both unimpressed and satisfied with the scene before him.

Aaron had known, of course, he had known that he was the devil, but until now, he had managed to tune out just how much violence and pain and terror Lucifer had been forced to witness and had possibly even inflicted on others.

The contrast to his actions outside of punishment was unimaginably stark and made Aaron accept that, no, Lucifer Morningstar was not human. He did not think like a human being and it would be utterly unfair to force him into doing that. He obviously had a strict moral code, and did not relish in inflicting pain/punishment on innocents. Aaron did not regret his decision to renew this invitation.

Detective Espinoza was the first to speak, addressing Lucifer directly, “So, what _did_ you do?”

“Hm?” asked Lucifer, his eyes no longer on the screen but on the three bound men, two of whom were visibly shaking.

“What did you do? We all know, so, what was the punishment?”

“Oh, they were easily broken. Disappointing, really. One glance at what awaits him and Roy Ward is begging for mercy.”

“So, there is no redemption for men like Ward?” asked Detective Decker with a strange undertone.

Aaron was in the game for too long to let personal prejudices cloud his judgment, but he definitely preferred working with Detective Espinoza to working with Detective Decker. Detective Espinoza was ambitious, his instincts just fine and he had no partner meaning he often worked with different detectives, even different agencies. He had to climb the career ladder from the ground up, outranking Detective Decker only in terms of time served but not in any other way. Given his socioeconomic background, he had probably grown up in a family of immigrants, possibly Mexico, with at least three other siblings and he was probably somewhat in the middle, almost certainly the second son. He was terrified of making mistakes and of jeapordizing his career and with that their income; that fear was so paralyzing that he was ready to ignore his own instincts in order to avoid stepping on delicate foots.

Detective Decker was the opposite. She had climed the ladder in record time, was the second-highest ranking female officer in her department, only outranked by the lieutenant herself. She had a very sharp, analytical mind and excellent instincts, but she was prone to working alone and seeing anyone who did not agree with her as a potential opponent. Unlike Detective Espinoza, she had a grown up in a household with a lot of money, never had to worry about it in her entire life. She was most likely a single child with a very close relationship to her father who had never been able to say ‘no’ to her, which was why she viewed any male authority figure that refused her as a personal attack on her person, and possibly her gender. Her relationship to her mother was complicated and Aaron would not want to guess without seeing the two in the same room. Out of the entire group, she seemed to be struggling with the revelation the hardest, probably because it meant that there was part of their existence that could not be controlled. It was also possible that she used to be an atheist or at least agnostic for the entirety of her adult life, though he could not exclude that she might have grown up in an atheist household. However, unlike Reid, who used to be agnostic, she seemed to have ony few questions outside of specific ones relating to their work, which was strange in and on itself as was demonstrated by her current question. All of that indicated that she refused to see the whole picture of what a real, physical devil implied.

It was also possible that her mind was already made up, which was hard to imagine given she had barely talked to Lucifer today and had been willing to shoot him last night.

“No,” was all Lucifer replied, his facial expression merciless.

“Even if he lived the life of a saint. These actions will haunt him.”

“Yes,” was the casual reply. “I don’t decide who goes to Hell. Most of the time, I don’t even choose their punishment. Ward will choose his own personal Hell, which could be finding his dead brother over and over again, or some other personal tragedy, honestly, Detecive Decker, I cannot say. I might punish him some more because of what he did, because his own personal grief did not justify that kind of response by any means, so if his loop is too light, I will assign some additional punishments. Now Woods and Fletcher are another story. Their souls are dark, so punishing themselves is not going to be an option. They don’t feel remorse, not truly. And that’s why I ignited a bit of Light in the darkness. Highly effective. For the rest of their miserable existence, they won’t be able to find peace, and every dream will turn into a nightmare. Imagine feeling no remorse, no true empathy for anything or anyone, and suddenly being faced with the consequences of your actions.” He smiled. “And I tagged them for Ammit.”

“The Devourer of Hearts,” breathed Reid. “She’s real.”

“Yes, and she’s always hungry,” replied Lucifer. “That is my punishment for them. The rest is up to your justice system.”

“And you can just make that decision,” continued Detective Decker incredulously. “Just you alone. You randomly decide how to punish them. Casually and without reflection.”

Lucifer tilted his head, “I wouldn’t say random. Now, I admit to having a personal grudge against Woods for raping my friend, but it would be unfair if Fletcher, whose crimes were just as hideous, received leniency. My decision to tag them for Ammit could only be made when I actually, truly saw them. I do not feed souls to her lightly.”

“No court, no jury, no opportunity for them to defend themselves?” she challenged.

“Welcome to celestial justice. Dad put me in charge. Haven’t received a complaint from him since. Once a soul is in Hell, they’re mine. Dad has yet to take one from me.”

“What about the veto rights you mentioned?” she challenged.

“That simply means that I don’t receive the soul.”

“But you’re not in Hell. You’re here on Earth, so how do you know that your judgment is true?” she countered sharply. “It isn’t right for you to punish a living soul without going through the official channels.”

“The official channels of the LAPD and a court of American Law,” Lucifer laughed dismissively. “Oh yes, I remember distinctly how fair and balanced human justice is. _Money_ and _power_ have freed a lot of monsters over the years. Do you have any idea how many cops, prosecutors, defense laywers, judges, jailors and executioners were sent to Hell?”

“A group of people is still better than a single entity judging who gets punished and who doesn’t,” she countered.

“He’s not human,” Reid decided to chime in quietly. “And groups of people have committed terrible acts, both illegally but also legally, approved by the laws of their country, regardless of what form of government existed, past and present. He’s lived through all of that and more. He must have punished millions if not billions of humans who committed a whole range of different sins. He’s seen it all so to speak,” Reid was nervously wringing his hands, and there was that half-smile that Hotch was all too familiar with. “I would rather be judged solely by him than any human court of law, because, we’ve barely just met and I already know he hates violence, he detests injustice, he loathes those that encroach on someone else’s free will. Yet,” he was starting to pace, “despite having witnessed the absolute worst humanity has to offer, he still loves humans, he still cares enough to talk a woman off the ledge, so she doesn’t fall. He gently reminds people whose lives were torn apart that they can recover, that all they have to do is climb. He opens his home to anyone who desires it. So yeah, if I’m going to be judged and punished for whatever sins I committed during the course of my life, I’d rather have it be Lucifer than some random judge who will never see the context of what I did and why I did it.”

Silence followed that sharp, fervent defense. Morgan and Garcia smiled at Reid proudly. Prentiss nodded in agreement, JJ huffed a laugh and her eyes gleamed with admiration for her younger colleague. Rossi also nodded, and Aaron simply said, “Well said, Reid.”

Lucifer shook his head, “Young one, if you end up in my domain, the entire system has irreparably broken, and I will have words with Dad.”

“That doesn’t sound ominous at all, man,” Morgan chuckled, “but we appreciate the thought.”

“Don’t worry about that, Agent Morgan. Tally on souls is in my favor at the moment,” he smiled.

Detective Espinoza just shook his head, “You know what? I’m not even going to comment on that. This is out of my juristiction. I’m now going to collect all the evidence we have on these perps so that a human court of law – and I can’t believe I actually said that – will be able to convict these bastards, perferably for death row, or at least for a 25 to life sentence. Is there anyone who wants to join?”

“That’s a good idea, actually. Morgan, Rossi, Prentiss, please help him. Garcia, collect all the electronic data we have, let’s wrap this up. Reid, just… help JJ wrap everything up. We should leave this evening, otherwise I will have to justify our extended stay to the office. Lucifer, please, can we talk?”

Lucifer agreed and they stepped into their temporary field office, from where JJ had already removed all the photos as well as their personal equipment.

“Change of heart, Agent Hotchner?” he asked as soon as the doors closed.

“No. Have you thought about our offer?”

“Coming to Earth was the best decision I ever made,” was all he said. “Lux, the sex, the drugs, the parties, the… friends. It’s been outstanding. But helping you hunt down these men, punishing them… It’s who I am, Agent Hotchner. It’s all I’ve ever done. It makes me happy, and there is no way I can find the kind of variety I crave from the LAPD, that is if they wanted me, which I doubt. However, before I say that I will leave LA, there are a few things I need to take care of. Delilah may not be interested in heading her own club. And you wouldn’t believe the kind of paperwork that accumulates over the course of five years.”

“About that… Are your papers convincing enough to fool FBI security? Because otherwise, I’ll make sure Garcia will look over them,” suggested Aaron. “And there are a few administrative loops we’ll have to jump through, but I’m sure we’ll handle it.”

“So, we are in agreement. If everything works out, and my people agree to it and your FBI is fine with it, I’ll be part of your team and I’ll come to Washington DC in order to help you on cases.” He summarized, and then pursed his lips, “I won’t be with you all the time, because I’ll open another club for sure. Crime fighting alone sounds boring.”

This time, Aaron could not suppress a smile, “I expected nothing less. It will be nice to have a place to go to after a difficult case.”

Lucifer echoed his smile, “You’ll always be welcome. Free of charge.”

Aaron felt compelled to make a point, “I must warn you: I run a tight ship, Lucifer. I’m known to be relentless and even though you _are_ technically the highest authority in the world if not the universe, you will have to follow our lead in the field.”

“Sounds like fun, joining you,” smiled Lucifer. “I’ve never been a general, Agent Hotchner, or a born leader. All I ever wanted was independence and the right to choose my path. I might question you, but I’ll have to rely on you anyhow. Following your lead seems rational.”

Slowly, Aaron nodded. Now that they were alone, his mind drifted to the hour-long discussion he had with Dave last night.

“There’s just one thing we couldn’t figure out about you,” he began.

“Just the one?” smiled the devil.

That innocent question caused Aaron to scoff, and he realized that he had not smiled this much since the divorce and the many months of separation and arguments that preceeded that.

“Alright, I have several, but… Why did you leave?”

“I’m not sure I understand,” was what Lucifer said in return, prompting Aaron to elaborate.

“While you obviously enjoy being a punisher of sins, you detest the task your father gave you, and yet, you performed it for… longer than I can possibly hope to understand. Despite your hatred for the task, you did it because it was your duty. In my many years of analyzing behavior, I’ve learned that habits never change without cause and an immortal has even less inclination to change than mortals do, so… What could cause someone as diligent and faithful as you to turn your back on Hell? You obviously believe its existence is justified. So why?”

Solemn, ancient eyes stared him down and Aaron had trouble holding his gaze.

“She was just a little girl,” was the quiet response. “Not much older than your spawn. Four, maybe five. From what I understand, and that is a lot of guesswork because, well, you’re a father, you know how these children can’t formulate a proper sentence if their lives depended on it.” He sneered, but that was quite obviously a distraction. He looked disillusioned and pained, “From what I understand,” he repeated. “Her father had left months earlier, and her mother regularly ‘ate these white pills from an orange box,’ which ‘Mommy’ called her ‘Be Happy Pills’. She was looking forward to school, but she felt bad about that too, because she didn’t want to leave Mommy all alone in the house. The neighbors’ kids were ‘mean’ to her, but her mother didn’t put a stop to it. One day, the bullies hurt her really bad, and Mommy wasn’t home, so she took her mother’s happy pills from the kitchen counter to stop the pain.” A tremor went through Lucifer and Aaron just knew where this was going. Still, he did not say anything and listened instead. The smile that formed on the devil’s lips was bitter and full of pain. “Did you know that apparently qualifies as suicide according to Dad’s rules? I didn’t. I’ve dealt with children before, of course, evil little cretins. I’ve dealt with unfortunate teen suicides, but that little girl, she… She’s just this little bundle of a thing trapped in a loop with her mother screaming at her for being a burden, and her begging for her father to return, but she only ever sees him drive away.” His voice broke. “I…” He looked up and shook his head. Aaron had the distinct feeling that he saw more than a ceiling, “She must’ve slipped through the cracks, I hope, but I’ve worked the system for eons and _this_ is not why I did it. Punishing five-year-old innocent souls that happened to make one bad decision, and _accident_ … That’s when I decided that I couldn’t do it anymore. I’ve debated this point with Dad millions of time, but he’s merciless when it comes to suicide, because he _doesn’t know!_ He never stepped foot into Hell. He-“ He stopped and shook his head. “And that’s why I’m here.”

Aaron nodded softly, intent on giving Jack an extra-hug when he returned.

“Can’t you tell… I don’t know, one of your siblings or your father that there was a mistake?” he asked after a moment of silence.

The responding scoff was dangerously close to a sob.

“No, because souls whose bodies died are bound to wherever they are meant to go. In order to release her to Heaven, I need to coax her out of her cell, to the Gates and get Azrael, but the girl has to do it by her own free will. Ironically, I could torture her, I could rip her from the room and give her to Ammit,” he hissed, unable to suppress the visceral, physical response at the thought, as if the thought of hurting an innocent soul was beyond what his physical body could bear even if it was within his rights. “Nobody could or would stop me, but I cannot release her. It’s useless anyway, because the tag has festered. Before Judgment Day, there is no way she’ll ever go to Heaven. But I created a place,” he explained, his eyes wide and for the first time, Aaron detected a hint of pride apart from agony and anger. “A place where souls that shouldn’t be in Hell can get some rest, something akin to peace. But for that, I need to get her out of the bloody room, and she won’t come. Dromos has visited her every day trying to coax her out, but she refuses, says that she’s not allowed to talk to strangers.”

Aaron was speechless. It looked like Stranger Danger had more disastrous consequences than even Jason could have predicted.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could say.

“Don’t bother,” Lucifer dismissed his concerns. “I despise human children. The ones I know are frightening, cruel, backstabbing little creatures, but that girl was none of that.”

That statement caused Aaron to mentally write down a checklist: Make sure Lucifer comes in contact with children that were no sociopaths, if possible quiet and shy ones, starting with Jack. Make sure sure Lucifer isn’t alone when dealing with children until Aaron was sure he overcame thousands of years of bad experiences. Make sure to make a note of all of Lucifer’s triggers, which included but likely were not limited to suicide, child abandonment or abuse, bullying and anything related to Heaven and Hell.

“Perhaps,” Aaron began slowly, “I cannot guarantee you that it’ll help, but we might be able to provide you with the tools to help that little girl. Or I could go with-“

He stopped abruptly. What on Earth was he offering?

Ancient eyes caught his gaze, “While the thought is greatly appreciated, Agent Hotchner, I’d rather close the Gates than let another innocent soul step into my realm. I am looking forward to your lessons, however.” Then he frowned, “Does this mean I’ll have to talk to these dirty, little burdens?”

Aaron chuckled. That devil was something.

“I think I’ll have you practice on Reid first before I let you near any kids. On behalf of my child, I must say however, that…”

Lucifer just rolled his eyes, “That he’s a gift from Heaven, yada yada yada. Yes, I’ve heard it all before. I can guarantee you that the likelihood of him being an actual blessing is negligible. Dad only blesses that kind of thing when it fits into his plans. You wouldn’t want him to be a miracle, believe me.”

“What I wanted to say is that, without him, not only would my life be nothing but a void and I would get lost in the cruelty that I witness every day, but also that I could’ve never overcome the shadows of the past.” He figured that if Lucifer was being so honest with him, he should return the favor.

“What shadows, Agent Hotchner?” asked Lucifer curiously, but also knowingly as if he could see something that darkened Aaron’s soul. He probably could.

“Let’s just say that being born adult, as you called it, usually has a reason. Mine was Aaron Jacob Hotchner.”

No additional words were needed. Lucifer nodded slowly, his eyes very dark and cold, “Died approximately ten years ago of a heart attack?” he asked.

“Yes?” Aaron frowned, wondering if he knew about that from the background check he had done on them.

“Yeah, he’s got his own room. In Dromos’ section. He got what he deserved.”

Dumbstruck, Aaron mulled that over in his head. His father’s actions against them had banished him to an afterlife in Hell.

“Will he ever be forgiven?” he breathed.

“He’ll have to wait until Judgment Day,” was the reponse. “I hope this doesn’t disturb you.”

“No, he… he hurt them. He should face the consequences for that. He never had to while he was alive. He was a powerful, imposing, cruel man with a reputation for being one of the best prosecutors in the country, because he was like a bull on his quest for justice, but also charming and smart as a fox manipulating the jury at will. He was just like that at home, only his accused were his two little boys and his wife, and he was not just prosecutor but also judge, jury and executioner. Does he feel remorse?” he asked quietly.

Lucifer shook his head, “I wouldn’t know. I’d have to ask Dromos. I never visited him, but I know the type. They all feel remorse, or pretend to. And he probably listed all the reasons why he did it, probably metaphorically stabbed your mother in the back, in the hope it would lessen his own sentence. If I were you, I wouldn’t waste my time thinking about him, Agent Hotchner. He dug his own grave. All you can do is learn your lessons from him, and do the exact opposite, and given how you light up whenever your spawn is mentioned or on your mind, which is constantly, I believe you’re doing a good job.”

Aaron felt how the tension in his shoulders disappeared. One of his biggest fears was ending up like his father. Hearing from the highest court in the universe that it looked like he was successful in not becoming _him_ felt a bit like absolution.

“Thank you,” was all he could say.

A sharp nod, and then, after a moment, “Thank you for trying to help.”

It looked like Lucifer had given up hope that they could help that girl. Well, Aaron would teach him everything he knew about behavior and about dealing with victims, witnesses and UnSubs whether they were children or adults. He would teach him everything about behavior, and then, perhaps, they might succeed.

In turn, Aaron knew that the devil would be an asset to the team, not only by making their lives safer, but also because Lucifer’s personality perfectly fit into their team, devil or not. Apart from that, he had probably seen it all. He would be their anchor during the most harrowing of cases.

If nothing else, Aaron had the distinct feeling that ‘boredom’ would be a thing of the past. He was looking forward to it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so here it is: Lucifer will leave LA. Probably. He still has to hash out a few things with Delilah.
> 
> As you can see, this story is only the beginning. I am planning a series with Lucifer at the BAU, one one hand a multi chap fic where Lucifer will be joining the team on cases after Elephants Memory and an actual series with cases and plots outside of CM canon.
> 
> I hope this sounds okay, and that it will interest you.
> 
> Author's note on this chapter:  
> > On Hotch: Season 1 once indicated that he was severely physically abused by a cruel father. We rarely hear or see anything about that after the fact, only that he tends to get all silverback on men that abuse their wives and children. However, in this story, I’m going with that abandoned storyline.  
> > On Lucifer leaving Hell: If there is one thing that Criminal Minds has taught me, is that nothing happens just for the sake of it. People change behavior because of a trigger event. So, in view of that, I thought that Lucifer probably didn’t just up and leave Hell because he was tired of it. Why would an immorta change his behavior so suddenly? Here’s my explanation. Entirely fictional, of course, but blending with with Criminal Minds tone here.  
> > Stranger Danger: In a Season 1 episode of CM, Jason Gideon explains in detail why Stranger Danger was a dangerous program to implement.


	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lieutenant Olivia Monroe thanks the BAU for their help, marvels about Lucifer Morningstar and then forgets about all of that once she is home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Yet another 70k+ Lucifer story has been completed. That is only thanks to you, my dear readers. Thank you for the very verbal support. I adore this comment section.
> 
> I must also give credit to SilverWolf7: Thank you, my dear, for your continued support and all the discussions no matter how trivial!
> 
> Other than that... I decided on a series name for my BAU/Lucifer crossover, so in case you want to subscribe to that, you are now able to.

Olivia shook Agent Hotchner’s hand, and thanked the rest of his team for their invaluable assistance.

“Thank you for coming, everyone,” said she, genuinely grateful. “Agent Jareau, thank you for organizing things so quickly and efficiently once the connection to San Diego was established. Outstanding work, all of you.”

She would give her left hand right now to have Agent Jareau in her office. Unfortunately, it was clear that Agent Hotchner was more than aware just how lucky he was to have her or any other member of his team.

“Thank you. It was our pleasure. If you ever need us again, you know where to find us,” said Agent Hotchner.

“Not that I want to get rid of you, but I thought you intended on leaving early this afternoon,” said Olivia.

“We were scheduled to leave, but Lucifer wanted to get something from the penthouse, but he can’t join us to the airport because he has other responsibilities,” explained Agent Hotchner.

Olivia nodded at that

That man was as much of a mystery as Mazikeen. The lieutenant was sure to have the highly intelligent and methodical woman’s loyalty and full dedication, but she was aware that if Morningstar called her, she would leave without looking back. There was a history between these two that she could not begin to guess, yet it seemed like Morningstar was actively trying not to interfere with Mazikeen’s career, even though he was very used to having her ear, attention and support.

Olivia knew from personal experience how difficult it was to maintain a friendship when rank was involved, and Morningstar unquestionably outranked her with whatever they used to do before coming to LA. Olivia had climbed LAPD’s career ladder and some of her friends had been able to deal with that, while others were not. The point was, Mazikeen and Morningstar were trying to change their relationship, which was more than she could say about some of her former colleagues.

It seemed like both the LAPD and the FBI hit the jackpot in terms of recruitment during this case. She had Maze; they got Morningstar. She could not help but mourn the fact that Morningstar had slipped through the cracks and into the open arms of the BAU, because he was charming and so well connected in this city that it was almost frightening. On the other hand, she had the distinct feeling that the FBI needed him more, and she could count on Maze to call in favors from Morningstar if necessary.

She could not think of any of her detectives that would fit quite as well with Morningstar’s eccentricities as the members of the BAU. Espinoza might, but then he could work with almost anybody. Decker certainly had the brains and the talent to use his skills to her advantage, but on a personal level, she doubted they would get along. It was obvious just how much she disliked the man whenever he was as much as mentioned. Most of Olivia’s other detectives either already had partners or would not wish to work with a civilian.

“So, do you already have a next case to work on?” she decided to go on with the pleasantries.

“There always are, but external consultation only,” answered Agent Hotchner, who would be a typical, high-ranked, straight-laced FBI agent if it were not for his inherently soft demeanor. “Once we’re back in Quantico, we’re deciding where to go next.”

Espinoza was talking to Agents Prentiss and Morgan, while Dr. Reid went out of his way to stand as far away from Decker as possible, who in turn was conversing with Agent Rossi. Agent Jareau was talking to Ms. Garcia and Lopez, who was hugging the two making them promise that they would call next time they were in town, because she wanted to do a ‘girl’s night out,’ inviting Agent Prentiss and Decker in the same breath.

Mazikeen had left earlier with a name to hunt down. Olivia knew she would not dissappoint her.

“There you are,” she heard Morningstar’s enthusaistic exclamation. It was strange how a worldly, suave gentleman could act as giddily and restlessly as her eight-year-old Simon, whose default setting – as his aunties liked to joke – was ‘happy-go-lucky’ in contrast to her very serious ten-year-old Billy. “I feared I would be late.”

“You asked us to wait, Lucifer,” commented Agent Hotchner neutrally, but then he was curious enough to continue. “Why did you?”

“Well, farewell gifts, of course! I mean I know I am actually coming with you, but that hasn’t stopped me so far, but first… actual farewell gifts. Ah, Ms. Lopez, you’re also here, perfect: you were a difficult one to select something for. Given your choice of bling bling, I feared you might feel quite uncomfortable receiving gifts from the devil-“ he began, but she shook her head.

“Pacino’s devil, sure, or Byrne’s devil from _End of Days_ , or Stormare’s devil, but your devil’s just fine,” she smiled.

He scoffed, “Of course. Well, may I ask you for a bit of a leap of faith then, so to speak? Would you mind giving me the extension of what makes you the person you are?” said he, gesturing at the cross on her neck.

Ella just smiled and immediately reached for the necklase. In view of Morningstar’s baffled facial expression, Olivia lowered her head to hide her own smile. That girl was the best pick she could have made. Not only was she absolutely brilliant, but there was also a warmth to that woman that they sorely needed at the LAPD.

Unless she started to babble.

While it was charming, Olivia did not have the time to listen to an elaboration on which captain of the _Enterprise_ was the best in the series and why Spock and Captain Kirk were totally a couple in TOS.

Decker made a strange move when the cross was in Morningstar’s right hand, as if she wanted to take a step forward, but decided against it.

The club owner looked at the cross thoughtfully for a moment before covering it with his hands in a gesture that resembled prayer. He closed his eyes for a moment, bringing his enclosed index fingers to his lips. Then he opened his eyes and gently returned the cross.

“What did you do?” asked Ella, curious.

“To use law enforcement terms, I opened a channel for communication. Feel free to give my best to Raphael or Jophiel, next time they appear in your prayers. Now, apart from that, don’t think I missed the conversation you had with Ms. Garcia about the Klingon language. Did you know that that Marc wrote Klingon short stories? He never published them, because he figured they were too peaceful for Klingon literature. Anyway, he made a few copies, and one of them is in my possession. I thought you might appreciate it.” With that, he handed over a bound manuscript. Ella looked at the book as if it held the answers to the universe.

Dr. Reid stared at it with equal reverence.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

“Now,” Morningstar turned away from the forensic scientist and focused on Olivia. His brown, intense eyes should be registered as a weapon; not that she wanted to sleep with him, her own marriage was too important, but damn, he was hot. Her breath hitched just a tiny bit.

“What can I possibly give you? I hardly know you, but since I have something for Ms. Lopez, you should also receive a present.” He reached into his bag. “So, I got you this.” It was an envelope. “One week at the spa retreat Golden Door in San Marcos. All you have to do is give them a call, and they will welcome you. Everything free of charge. Wonderful place, very useful as well. In short, perfect for both making connections and to relax.”

She stared at the envelope, “I can’t-“

“Your husband told me that you’ve always wanted to go there since you read an article about this retreat. Lovely chap, your husband, by the way,” smiled the club owner gently. “It can be just the two of you or with your children. And if the two of you want to have some fun at my place, please consider this an open invitation.” He smiled, but there was a mischievous gleam in his eyes. As in, he would totally follow through with it, but knew she was not into him that way. A bit dumbstuck, she thanked him, and watched as he turned to Detective Espinoza.

“I honestly didn’t know what to give you. I never asked you what you liked or desired, so I was taking a wild guess here and figured that you liked pudding, based on the number of different brands of empty pudding cups I found near your desk-“

“You mean in my trash.”

“Didn’t I just say that? Anyway, there is a wonderful brand that I like,  _Pasticceria Delizioso_.”

“Oh man, these are the best, but they’re like eight bugs a tiny cup, so-“

“The owner owes me a favor, so now you can get free pudding whenever you like. Just state your name, and you’ll be served.”

A sound came out of Espinoza’s mouth that she had never heard before, and did not care to hear again. He looked as happy as Olivia was with her gift.

“Thank you.”

“Now, Detective Collins. What to give you? Your desk gave me nothing away regarding your personality, absolutely nothing, except for the fact that you obviously care for your family, and spend as much time as you can with them. So, I called your wife, and she told me that you had to make some cutbacks this year, because the money is tight.”

“She _what_?” Collins’ breath hitched.

“Oh, no need to be ashamed,” he dismissed the detective’s concerns, “given your wife’s hysterectomy last year, I understand that money is a potential problem,” he continued casually and Olivia looked from Collins to Morningstar. She remembered how Collins had asked for extended leave of three week last year, but he had not elaborated and she had not inquired. The man was a hard worker and she had granted his leave without hesitation.

“She told you about that?” whispered Collins. “When?”

“I called her on my way to the penthouse.”

Olivia just shook her head disbelievingly. That was some serious skill this man possessed. Sibylle Collins may be an exquisitely sweet lady, but she did not just talk about hysterectomies over the phone.

“Anyway, I figured that the only way I could help you is that, just because you are more tact than melody, your children shouldn’t be kept away from their music lessons, so consider the piano lessons for your daughter and the guitar lessons for your son paid until they don’t want to do them anymore. I would suggest you offer the piano to your son as well. It’s an outstanding instrument. Oh, and that piano you looked at last year but didn’t buy due to your wife’s medical expenses is on its way to your house.”

Damn, that man was generous. Limited book editions and calling in favors notwithstanding, he had probably just spent around thirty thousand dollars on a group of people he barely knew.

“Detective Decker, I figured you had some questions, after everything,” said he quite gently. “While I cannot give you the answers or any guarantees, I would like to recommend this,” he handed over an old, leather-bound book. “It was written by a truly brilliant man, an outstanding thinker. Oscar struggled for many years to make sense of his faith, his heart and soul, so to speak. What he loved was not compatible with the society he lived in nor with the religion he wished to belong to. He had this sent to me, a few months after he was released from prison. Unfortunately, by the time I returned, he was already gone.” Genuinely saddened, he handed her the book. “I hope this will help you. It helped him come to terms with himself and with religion.”

She thanked him curtly and took the book cautiously. Olivia thought that reaction was a bit cold. He had obviously put some thought into this.

“Oscar?” asked Reid. “Wilde? Oscar Wilde?”

“Yes,” replied Morningstar.

That was the moment Decker almost dropped the book, before looking at it with wide eyes. “Oscar Wilde?” she repeated. Her grip on the book tightened as if scared that she might let it fall.

“Yes,” answered Morningstar again and turned to Reid. “You were difficult and easy. Difficult because there were so many books to share and easy because, I certainly wasn’t lacking ideas. Now, the _Narrative of John Smith_ is one of your favorites, correct?”

“Yes,” replied Dr. Reid, looking quite giddy.

“I’m sure you know the story behind that, don’t you?” continued Morningstar.

“The original story was lost in the mail and never recovered. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was forced to rewrite it,” was the prompt reply.

“Yes, well, that is the official explanation, because, even a spiritualist like Sir Arthur couldn’t very well claim that his first draft was in the devil’s hands, while said devil’s older brother forcibly moved him back to Hell. Anyway, I thought you might enjoy this one.”

With hands that shook with excitement, Reid cautiously took the leather-bound manuscript and thanked him quietly.

Did she miss something? When exactly had everyone decided to believe that insane narrative that Morningstar was the actual, literal devil. And from where exactly had he acquired such a unique manuscript? And how on Earth could he just give it away as a farewell gift?

“I overheard your conversation about the Vonnegut collection,” continued Morningstar without missing a beat, turning to Agents Prentiss and Morgan. “Kurt’s personal notes on _Mother Night_ are for you, Agent Prentiss and _Slaughterhouse 5_ ’s additional notes for you, Agent Morgan, feel free to exchange them. For you Agent Rossi, you look to me like a man of excellent taste with a certain love for the Rat Pack. These are the private recordings of at least a few members of the original Rat Pack, namely Humphrey Bogart, Judy Garland and Frank Sinatra. I don’t think my voice is on it. I was playing the piano for them.”

As much as Olivia was looking forward to that vacation at Golden Door, she almost jealously eyed Agent Rossi’s present, ignoring the club owner’s insane commentary.

“You were more difficult, Agent Jareau, but you obviously enjoy views, so I had a painting sent to your office back at Quantico.”

She smiled broadly, “Given what you’ve given the others, I hope it’s not a Monet.”

“No, no, no, not a Monet, don’t worry. She’s a contemporary artist, very fond of drawing city skylines. Her name is Christine-“

“Reynolds,” breathed Agent Jareau. Her eyes widened, “How on Earth did you…?” She did not complete the question.

“Your private phone has one of her more famous paintings as a background image,” replied the club owner casually. His observational skills truly were outstanding.

“Agent Hotchner, I didn’t know what to give you. From what you told me, I would expect your little spawn to be as quiet as you are, probably a bit lost inside of his head. I guessed you wouldn’t appreciate it if I bought him a toy store and I think he might be a bit young to read, but the only other thing I have in my possession that might be of interest for a boy that age is an extensive coin collection or a variety of cufflinks.”

“Desire truly is your power, isn’t it, Lucifer?” said Agent Hotchner, the corners of his lips forming a smile. “We collect coins together. I did it as a child and so does he.”

“Perfect. You should open it together,” said the club owner, handing over a small casket, which Agent Hotchner took with his left hand and thanked him by shaking Morningstar’s right.

“I will, thank you.”

With a very broad grin, Lucifer smiled at Ms. Garcia.

“Do you know Dawna Markova?”

“Yes, of course. Her books are so inspirational. My favorite quote is:

‘ _I will not die an unlived life. I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire. I choose to inhabit my days, to allow my living to open me, to make me less afraid, more accessible; to loosen my heart until it becomes a wing, a torch, a promise. I choose to risk my significance, to live so that which came to me as seed goes to the next as blossom, and that which came to me as blossom, goes on as fruit.’_ ” Her eyes filled with tears as she spoke, but there was a fierceness and warmth to her words that was admirable.

“Meeting her was quite incidental,” said Lucifer. “But we had a truly wonderful conversation, and she gave me this,” said he handing over a noteboook. “I must confess that, even though I can quote it verbatim, I’m not sure what she wanted to tell me. Perhaps, you could read it and help me understand.”

With trembling hands, she took the notebook and assured him that she would.

“Thank you, Ms. Garcia,” he said in reponse. “Weren’t you supposed to leave by 3 o’clock?”

They all checked their watch, apologized for their abrupt departure, thanked Lucifer with the promise that they were looking forward to welcoming him in Quantico, and gathered their things to leave.

On their way out, Agent Morgan put a hand on Morningstar’s shoulder, “You know, we all took the gifts. Now you can’t complain when we get you something.”

“Trying to make a deal with the devil, Agent Morgan?” he grinned roguishly.

“I’m not afraid of the devil, Angel. I hear he’s a good guy,” was the playful response, his smile wide and his eyes almost entirely closed, eyebrows raised.

“’Angel,’ Agent Morgan?” repeated Morningstar incredulously. “Really?”

“Tell me that I’m wrong and I’ll stop. This is my endearment for you, you better swallow it.”

“Oh, I would l love t-“ he purred, but stopped speaking quite abruptly. “You can’t give me these beautiful, suggestive yet innocent openings and expect me not to take them, Agent Morgan.”

The FBI agent just grinned in return, “Derek Morgan: 2, Devil: 0.”

A decidedly dangerous gleam appeared in these gorgeous, brown eyes, “I see where this is going, but beware. Winning a war of words against me isn’t easy.”

“Well, I have Reid on my side. Right, Kid?” grinned the experienced profiler, but it slipped away when he realized that Dr. Reid’s eyes were glued to the manuscript in his hands, which indicated that he had not even heard anything. “Kid?”

“My, my, my… How the tides have turned,” the club owner whispered, and yes, in that moment, Olivia almost believed his claims of being the devil.

“Everyone, let’s go!” said Agent Morgan hastily. “Plane’s not waiting for us.”

“It’s a private jet,” countered Ms. Garcia with a wide smile. “I’m sure it’ll wait.”

“Traitor!” hissed Agent Morgan, and fled the scene, the team with the exception of Agent Hotchner at his heels, grinning mercilessly (except for Dr. Reid whom Ms. Garcia pulled out by the sleeve of his shirt).

“Agent Morgan: 2, Devil: 1,” Morningstar purred, following them, with the obvious intent of getting an even score or one score ahead of Agent Morgan.

Agent Hotchner shook his head, and turned to Olivia, “Thank you for the excellent teamwork, Lieutenant Monroe.”

Olivia nodded, “Likewise, Agent Hotchner. You know, I expected you to be a lot more…”

“Professional?” sighed Agent Hotchner. “I guarantee that this was a unique case.”

“Stuffy,” she replied instead. “I expected a bunch of suits with no sense of humor to take over the investigation. I’m glad to be proven wrong on all accounts.”

There it was. She actually made the man semi-smile. She called it a victory.

Later that day, after closing this case as well as trying to find out which one of her detectives was on the take for the local gangs - There was someone else apart from Ward. She just knew it. This guy was just better at covering his tracks and a lot more ruthless than Ward. Perhaps the guy who told Ward that this was a possible way out of the crippling debt –it was time to pack her things and call it a day. She clicked her tongue and both Cleo and Juno were up, ready to go home. It still amazed her how these two had taken to her two boys, little Tara and Bob.

It was late; her kids would already be sleeping, especially once she had taken that one-hour drive back home. She quietly entered the dark house and the three of them walked into the kitchen, the only room where the lights were still on.

She smiled.

Not only had Bob made her dinner but he had lit a candle, and there was a beautifully set table just for the two of them.

With a sigh, she buried her head in his chest and let him hug her, “I love you. Have I told you that lately?”

“Every morning when you look at me,” he replied, and then grinned. “Well, after you brushed your teeth and washed your face and you look like a human being again and not like whatever Juno found in the garden last night.”

She playfully hit his chest. “I heard you got a call today.”

“Morningstar is a cunning, charming, smooth-talking son of a b-bear,” he corrected himself just in time. The two of them, both with a career in law enforcement, though he had decided to go the academic route, tried to cut back on their cussing for the children’s sake. “I almost took him up on his offer for a threesome.”

She scoffed, “Try meeting him in person.”

“I looked him up. He’s gorgeous.”

Olivia nodded.

“I hope you aren’t angry with me for telling him what might make you feel good,” he cautiously approached her, putting his arms around her, so that her back touched his chest.

“No,” she smiled. “Thank you.”

“How was your case today?”

“Closed. They confessed. Every single, despicable detail of it.”

“Really?” he commented doubtfully. “How?”

“Morningstar. He just talked to them. I checked the footage. He didn’t lay a hand on them, but they told him everything,” said she.

“Wow,” was all he said.

“Yeah. Wow,” she agreed.

“Any closer on-“

“What about your day? How are my babies?”

“Simon’s much better. I think he’ll be ready to go back to school tomorrow. Billy had an A in math and in English. He’s so proud, I could barely convince him to go to sleep,” he continued.

“That’s my boy,” said she proudly. “I’ll make breakfast tomorrow. I want him to tell me everything.”

“That’s a deal. Tara learned a new word today, you know,” he laughed.

“Really?” she inquired, echoing his grin as she let him guide her to the table, so she would sit down and start to eat.

“Yes. _Comprtwawy_.”

“ _Comprtwawy_ ,” she repeated flatly.

“Yes. She overheard me talking on the phone… Jones needs me as a guest/substitute lecturer next Monday. _Contemporary Ethical Issues in_ _Law Enforcement_ : _an Overview._ ”

“Ah. And what did she hear?” The tension of the day started to slowly disappear as she listened to her husband’s tale.

“ _Comprtwawy Edible Issues in Law Forcement.”_

She giggled, “Well, she got ‘issues’ correct. That’s something. And ‘edible’ is a real word.”

“Agreed,” he chuckled.

“What are you going to guest lecture about?”

“Racial bias and the fact that our system is set up in a way that makes it almost impossible for a superior officer to crack down on corruption in their departments,” he clarified. She had become a cop; he had a Bachelor of Laws degree, before graduating in philosophy, specifically Ethics in Law Enforcement and Policing. He had an assistant professorship at UCLA lined up when they realized that Olivia was pregnant. He decided to cut back, take a part-time job at UCLA, which gave him a more flexible schedule, so that she could pursue her career. He would always tell her that this part-time job together with being a stay-at-home dad made him happier than any tenure track position ever could have. Too much stress and pressure in terms of grant funding and teaching. He was now the person they called when one of the TA’s or the professors were overwhelmed with other tasks. “Speaking of corruption…”

“I still don’t know who it is. I’m starting to suspect either Malcolm Graham and/or his partner Anthony Paolucci, but I can’t be sure.”

“You should have asked the profilers,” he suggested. “I’m sure they would have helped.”

“Yes, I know, but they were in a hurry, and I… was afraid of looking like I couldn’t clean up in front of my own door, you know,” she admitted, chewing and swallowing the delicious food he had bought for her (they were both awful cooks, sue them. Thursday would be Grandma-Cooks-For-Us day, and they were all looking forward to it). She looked up to him to see what he thought.

“I’m sure they appreciated you for the amazing woman that you are,” he smiled at her.

“Yeah, sure. Speaking of? Mazikeen is fantastic. No concept of privacy or rank, brash to the point of being rude, but I’ll be dam-sled… damsled if I let her go.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear it.”

They ate in silence for a moment before he spoke up, “You know… Regarding that talk in front of the California State Senate about _Edible Issues in Law Forcement_?”

“Hm?” she smiled, so very proud of her husband, just like he was proud whenever she received recognition for her work. He would sit in the front row of every ceremony telling everyone within earshot – including their children – that she decided to marry him and that he loved her so very much.

“I finally know how to end my talk,” he told her enthusiastically.

“Really?” she smiled. “Tell me.”

 

* * *

**“Ethics is nothing else than reverence for life.”**

**Albert Schweitzer**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:  
> All the artists exist with the exception of Christine Reynolds, whom I made up.
> 
> References:  
> \- https://simple.wikipedia.org/wiki/Klingon_language  
> \- https://simple.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marc_Okrand  
> \- https://www.businessinsider.com/golden-door-exclusive-spa-retreat-celebrities-wealthy-elite-photos-2018-12?r=US&IR=T  
> \- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oscar_Wilde  
> \- https://hollowverse.com/oscar-wilde/  
> \- https://www.arthur-conan-doyle.com/index.php?title=The_Narrative_of_John_Smith  
> \- https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rat_Pack  
> \- Christine Reynolds: I made that one up. No reference ☺  
> \- https://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/180600.Dawna_Markova  
> \- http://www.thedailyinspirations.com/documents/dawna_markova.html


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